


FIELDS OF GOLD: THE CLEARWATER CHRONICLES.

by RunePhoenix6769



Series: FIELDS OF GOLD [2]
Category: Cowgirl Yang - Fandom, Flirty Bees, Journalist Blake - Fandom, RWBY, RWBY-Beehaw, bumbleby
Genre: Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/F, Female Friendship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Mild Language, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-01 07:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18331343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunePhoenix6769/pseuds/RunePhoenix6769
Summary: After a chance encounter, Blake finds that she's now stranded in the small town of Clearwater, Oklahoma for the unforeseeable future and decides to accept her fate. (Well, for at least the next 6 months or so.)It's been two months now and she can't avoid the charming and warm group of young women that seem so hell bent on making her like the place so much.Nor can she ignore the palpable tension that's been building between her and the golden cowgirl she met on the side of the road!Things are hurtling towards a breaking point and someone is going to have to make the first move.





	1. Chapter 1

It all begins with Blake glancing out of the diner’s window as she wipes down the counter at the end of the lunch rush and spotting a very distinctive long ponytail whipping back and forth, so flaxen it nearly twinkles silver in the early afternoon sun as its owner crosses the street with determined strides and a deep scowl on her face. 

The journalist glances at the clock, right on time she thinks. 

At the tinkling of the over door bell, Nora comes in from the kitchen with a slight flush evident on her cheeks indicating that the bakery boy has made his delivery of fresh rolls and burger buns for the coming evening shift.

Weiss pulls out a high stool on the other side on the counter, struggling to climb into it even with the added height of her heels, before she dramatically flops face first onto the breakfast bar’s clean slightly damp surface, her hands dangling over the other side, mumbling incoherently. 

Blake busies herself checking the second hand coffee machine, purchased from a cafe going out of business in the next town over, that was already making back its weight in gold from the Schnee alone, preparing the delicate cup especially kept for Weiss she shouts over the hissing of the percolator,

“What was that?”

Clearwater’s youngest Auction accountant and surveyor cast a glance round the diner. Seemingly satisfied by that there’s no gossiping grannies, only Harold, who’s dozing off under the warm rays of sunlight coming through the window, Weiss complains, 

“I said, I hate my goddamn job! Especially after Auction day!”

Blake slides the cup of coffee over the counter, black, no sugar or creamer, just how the middle Schnee likes it, and Weiss cups her slender hands around the porcelain like it’s a much needed life line thrown out to an overboard fisherman tossed on the waves of a unforgiving ocean. She takes a sip, closing her eyes in blissful ecstasy, before breathing in gratitude, 

“Thank you!” She takes another long draft, “Have I ever told you, you are a dark angel sent from on up high?”

Blake chuckles at the heiress’s dramatics as Nora flicks at her with a towel in mock affront,

“Oi, how come you never say that about me?”

“Because, Nora, your coffee pales in comparison to genuine New York fare!” 

Nora looks scandalised, clutching a hand at her heart, 

“Miss Schnee, how can you wound me so?”

It’s been a hectic few days for all involved as cowboys, ranchers and ranch hands from all over the state had descended on the small town in wake of one of the many scheduled hog sales. Nobody minded the massive influx of cash the sales brought in, as it helped many residents make it through the leaner winter months, “Make hay whilst the sun shines,” as Harold would say. The tips alone had helped Blake secure her own apartment and move out of the Calavera Boarding House. It just means that all the residents have to be a little bit more accommodating, working extra shifts with places sometimes being open 24/7, sometimes two jobs, as the Auction often continued into the early hours of however many days it took to sell all the pigs. 

After about a week things tend to settle back down but it’s Weiss that usually gets it in the neck, having to oversee balancing the books and mind bogglingly large transactions. Looking at the expensive wrist watch on her slender wrist, the heiress once again flops onto the counter with a loud moan, begging,

“Somebody, please, kill me now!” 

She clutches at Blake’s sleeve, who internally chuckles at the fact that Weiss is such a Mood!

Nora leans on her elbows on the counter, flicking at wisps of flaxen hair, 

“You know what we all need?”

Two ice blue eyes look up from the counter, peering from under a split fringe, 

“What?” Weiss warily asks. 

Nora leans closer as if she’s parting some huge secret, tucking a fly away flaxen strand behind a tiny elfin like ear clad in diamonds, 

“Girls Night!” 

At that, Weiss perks up,

“God, yes!”

Hopping off the high stool, as if she is an entirely different person who hadn’t moments ago called for her own murder, she downs her coffee and slaps the counter. 

“You,” she points at Blake, “Get Xiao Long on the phone and you,-” She points at Nora, “Text Pyrrha.” She begins to walk backwards towards the door, flicking her finger in the direction of Harold “-And I’ll get Emerald, hopefully she can find someone at short notice! McTavish’s , the usual time?? ” 

She exits the diner, only to spin round on the street and pop her head back through the door, 

“Nora, I take it back. You ‘are’ an Angel!”

Fist pumping the air in victory, Nora exclaims, 

“Yes!!”

Harold startles awake, with a confused “Whzztpmpf”, before slipping back into his dozy slumber. Nora whispers loudly, 

“Sorry.” Before setting back off into the kitchen shaking her hips at music only she can hear chanting quietly, well quietly in regards to her usual volume, “-Girls Night, da dum dum tsh, Girls Night, da dum dum tsh!”

And that’s how the six women find themselves in a small bar at 8:30 on a late week evening, knocking back shots and playing pool.

x-x-x-x

Pyrrha, it turns out is a bit of a light weight. Yang it would seem is not. And Yang gently teases, someone she regards as one of her closest friends, about it. Finally, there’s something she’s not the best at and something Yang can easily surpass the Rodeo Superstar, rather than having to fit tooth and nail, often getting pipped at the post. 

Pyrrha promptly thrashes Yang at pool, much to the roaring amusement of everyone else that results in such a roasting of Yang, she’s sure she needs an ice pack. 

Blake on the other hand is sneaky. She plays the game with strategy, hiding the balls in shadows, hitting angles and trick shots, swaying her hips as she stalks around the table, making a huge display of weighing up her options. She's cocky as hell when she leans over the lip of the table, giving Yang a clear view down the valley of her breasts shooting her a wink before she expertly bounces the cue ball off the cushioning just at the right sweet spot to send it on the trajectory need to nudge Pyrrha's striped ball out of the way and gently tapping her own spotted ball so it falls gracefully into the pocket.

Pyrrha gets one last opportunity to try pot a ball before Blake clears the table with precision whilst making it look effortless. 

"What does the winner get?" Emerald asks,

"Loser drinks a shot!" Nora announces, holding up the miniature glass full of clear syrupy liquid. Pyrrha lets out a loud groan as the rest of the girls chant,

"Shot! Shot! Shot!" loud enough to cause the other punters to begin to stare.

Pyrrha gives in with a grin at their ridiculous antics.

"Alright alright" Giving into the peer pressure, she takes the glass from Nora, who high fives Emerald in celebration. Weiss roll her eyes with a twitch of a smile, as Pyrrha states. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" 

With an evil smirk Yang leans forward,

"Most definitely!"

" Was kind of hoping to let the chips fall where they may but nothing for it, I guess!" 

The Rodeo Superstar necks it back. Everything is fine for a few seconds until her face begins to screw up, it’s like watching continents crash over eons creating mountains, as her taste buds register with her brain before she lets out weird gurgle sounds and begins to stick out her tongue like a calf that's just been bottle dosed with wormer. 

"Blurrrghh!"

Nora begins to vibrate with excitement as if she stuck in a loop, 

"Guys" Guys!!" The group listen, "You know where we should go....!"

There comes a chorus of no no Nora, nooo. 

Emerald whines,

"Don't you say it Nora, don't you say it!"

Nora ignores the store clerk and sometimes barmaid as she yells,

"We should go the Hoedown Loedown!" 

Blake watches in bemused bafflement as the other four women pull an assortment of comically aghast faces and letting out a chorus of joking groans. 

"What's the Hoedown Loedown?" She asks.

Nora opens her mouth in a wide open mouthed smile, 

"Oh, you've never beeeeen?-" Throwing her arms over her head she pulls a number of dramatic poses, punctuating every word as she exclaims, "-It's only the best place EVER!" 

She throws an arm round Blake's shoulders, standing on her tippy toes to reach, pulling her closer conspiratorially, 

"The beer flows from jugs, there’s brawny guys, there’s a rootin tootin mcshootin foursquare dancefloor ANNNNND" she pauses for dramatic effect, "A MECHANICAL BULL!"

Weiss deadpans,

"Nora, I swear to all that is holy. I will give you my car if you promise to never to refer to Loedown’s dancefloor as 'rootin, tootin, mcshoootin' ever again!" She pulled a face "Oh lord, just saying it out loud, I think I need to wash my mouth out... gkk gkk, I’m infected! Help!" 

She turned to Yang flapping her hands, with a stricken face. Yang handed Weiss her cocktail, who guzzled it in the most unlady like fashion nobody in that bar ever thought her capable of. Finishing it, she wipes her mouth and much to everyone's surprise, announced,

"Another one of them, and I'll be ready to brave it!" 

Nora cheered, pulling finger guns at her,

"That's my girl!"

Emerald the only seeming voice of reason, asked, 

“How we gonna get there?"

It was a sobering thought, as they all took a few seconds to gauge if they were in fact safe to drive. 

Suddenly, Weiss ice blue glassy eyes alighted on Blake.

"She can!" 

"Me?"

"Yeah!" 

"But I don’t have a car!"

"We can take mine!" 

"And how are we meant to get back, pray?"

Pyrrha waved her hand, 

"I'll ring Jaune, he offered to come get me with the pick-up when I was done. We can drop whoever in town and Emerald on the way home," 

Weiss began rummaging through her purse,

"It's perfect, I can just leave my car at the Auction Mart. It's only across the road... kind of." 

"And you can stay on my couch!" Nora added,

"Or with me? " Blake offered.

Weiss triumphantly retrieved her keys, 

"Much Obliged, Nora, I think I'll take you up on the offer!" She shot a sly glance in Yang's direction, 

"No offense Blake, but it’s your first proper night in your new place and I wouldn’t want to impose on you both." 

Yang nearly choked on the bottle of beer she was drinking. 

Blake went to help her as Yang managed to sputter, 

"I'm ok, ... just down..... the wrong hole!" 

Emerald muttered into her drink, just on the cusp of hearing,

"Bet that’s not something she'll be saying later tonight!"

Causing Nora and Pyrrha to cackle in drunken laughter whilst Weiss threw her a look. Emerald threw up her hands, innocently imploring,

"What?? ...Don’t look at me like that.... It's true!" 

Blake caught the flush at Yang's cheeks and now she isn’t so certain it’s only caused by the alcohol or sudden loss of oxygen but something else entirely as the blonde ducked her gaze, tossing her head in a small tell the journalist had become rather familiar with over the last two months. 

Whipping her head between them all, Emerald asks, 

"So it's been decided then?" 

Everyone agrees. 

Taking the bottle from Yang's unresisting hand, Weiss necked back the rest of its contents before slamming it back down on the table, "Now, we can go!" 

She tossed her keys in the journalist's general direction, who fumbled to catch them, before walking off towards the exit and, much to the shock of everyone else, exclaiming in the most downright country twang, "C'mon losers, we're burning moonlight!" 

The General Store clerk mouthed wow and Yang shrugging into her worn brown leather jacket, says,

"Folks, I'm thinkin, we just created a monster!"

x-x-x-xx-

 

They stumble out of the bar and across the empty street over to Weiss’ light blue classic 1969 Camaro convertible with its white soft top and leather interior, parked outside the Auction Mart’s second office, twinkling invitingly as the street lamps flicker to life. Nora lets out a low whistle in admiration of it's craftsmanship, it's a town wide known thing that she's a bit of a car buff and has been coverting the sleek slice of Americana for some time, 

“What was that you said about giving me your car if I never call Loedown’s dancefloor ‘rootin, tootin, mcshootin,’ ever again?”

“I meant it!” Weiss bites back from the passenger side rear door. 

The red head pauses in the middle of The Thoroughfare as if in deep contemplation, not giving two shits that at any moment she could get splattered by oncoming traffic, 

“It almost makes it worth it! But naaaah, it’s too good a thing to give up! I like annoying you too much, Princess!”

Yanking on the car’s chrome handle, the heiress haughtily stamps her foot in a display rather befitting of her social position in this town, 

“Ahhh, COME ON!” 

Yang calls out, 

“You make it too easy, Weissy!” 

It garners a scowl from the flaxen haired young woman before she ducks into the car disappearing from view, much to the amusement of the rest of the group. As Blake rounds on the driver’s side door she tells them, 

“You guys are relentless!”

Emerald reassures her, 

“She knows we don’t mean it.”

At that, Nora becomes indignant, with hands on her hips,

“Yes, I fucking do!” 

The near side rear passenger door pops open and from within the car’s depths, Weiss shouts, 

“Shut up Nora, and get in the goddamn car!”

Yang flashes Blake a grin over the roof of the car from the front passenger side door as the other girls pile in the back. Once inside the four friends are giggling and wriggling in a tangle of arms and legs no one is certain which belongs to whom as it becomes evident there isn’t quite enough space.

Blake watches in amusement the comical display through the rear-view mirror as Weiss stands up in the cramped space, Pyrrha shifts over, Nora takes the middle and Emerald patiently waits for them to get situated before she can close the car door without squashing everyone. Yang turns in the front seat giving instructions of encouragement,

“Weiss, why dontcha sit on Nora’s lap?” 

With her head bent at an awkward angle under the soft top roof, Weiss replies,

“And what if we have to slam on the breaks? The last thing ya’ll need to see is a Schnee, Superman-ing through the windshield!” 

Putting on her seat belt and giving the gear stick an experimental wiggle, Blake cries out, 

“Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence in my driving skills!”

“It’s not you, I don’t trust…. I’m letting you drive my car aren’t’ I?-” The heiress haughtily grouses “- It’s the inherent bacon waddlers that randomly burst from the undergrowth I don’t trust! …They’re a hazard to my health, especially at night, on that stretch of road!”

“She has a point there!” Emerald adds.

Placing a hand on Blake’s thigh, Yang assures, giving it a light squeeze as she looks at the journalist,

“We’ll take it steady.”

And at those words, Blake isn’t so sure that it’s just about the car ride anymore but calling back to whatever has been going on between the pair ever since she climbed into a gigantic, green tractor’s cabin on the side of the road with a cheeky offer to ride a golden cowgirl’s knee.

Weiss continues,

“Besides, my Father would have a momentous shit fit.-” Taking on the distinctive voice of Papa Schnee, Weiss mimicked with faux seriousness, “ - Young lady, that is unbecoming behaviour befitting the great and illustrious Schnees! ...You’re making a mockery of our legacy!.. How dare you be caught dead in the middle of the road with your unmentionables showing for all to see!” 

Emerald and Nora snort and beside Blake, Yang bites into her own fist squeezing her eyes shut in mirth. Pyrrha sagely adds, 

“There is a silver lining ..... At least you’ll be dead!” 

Settling into the Rodeo Superstars lap, Weiss adds, 

“That maybe the case, but I would rather not run the risk of surviving!” 

Slipping the key into the ignition and turning it the car roars to life, Blake asks, 

“You all settled and got your seatbelts on?”

There comes a number of clicks and the slam of a passenger door as the occupants of the back seat give a chorus of different assurances. At that, Blake eases off the handbrake and guns the engine,

“Where to?”

Yang rolls down the window, 

“To the horizon, Darlin!” 

Blake can’t help but blush at the cheesiness of it as from the back seat there is a chorus of groans and Emerald lightly taps Yang on the back of the cowboy hat, causing it to precariously tip forward. 

“Whaaaat?” Yang admonishes,

“You know what!”

Gripping the back of both driver and front passenger seat, Nora leans forward to the front of the car, announcing, 

“I, for one, think it’s cute!” 

“Of course you would, you big sap!” 

Blake simply gives the hand on her thigh, that’s burning through her jeans, a light squeeze in reply. 

She sedately eases the car long the road approaching the garage, that heralds the outskirts of town, with its oldie worldie looking petrol pumps and wide forecourt meant to accommodate any vehicle's size. Blake glances through the rear-view mirror noticing how Emerald perks up. Set a ways back off the road, they can see that the workshops shutters are open, lights blazing, meaning that Mercury is intent on tinkering away into the late evening.

As they draw closer they can spot him, in dark grey overalls, the arms of which are tied around his waist showing off his oil stained white vest top, wiping his hands on a cloth as he is closely followed by a mottled coloured mongrel wagging its tail and jumping around him for attention. 

Yang suddenly darts over the middle console leaning on the horn and then waves exuberantly out of the passenger window. The mechanic looks confused at first, until he realises who it is, and returns the greeting. 

Emerald, slides down her seat, trying her best to hide from view. 

Nora turns to the flame cheeked ex barmaid, resting her chin on her hand as she goadingly enquires, rolling the first word on her tongue, 

“Sooooo, how is 'that' going?”

Emerald sasses back, 

“I’ll answer that when you tell me how things are going with bakery boy!”

“That's fair!” 

xxxxxx

It’s a swift ride as they spot Hoedown Loedown’s huge sign winking and flashing in the distance inviting revellers to stop for a while, take a load off, enjoy the friendly atmosphere and a side of Granma Calavera’s famed spicy chicken wings.

The entrance is directly across from the vast cattle yard and pens of the Auction Market on the other side of the road that seems to stretch as far as the eye can see. Weiss cranes her neck as if searching for something before coming to a decision, requesting that Blake pull into the bar’s gravelled car park and slip round the back. 

Nobody comments on the reason, seemingly an unspoken understanding, which the New Yorker can only guess at but still feeling like an outsider has no wish to intrude upon.

They all flop out of the small vehicle with a mixture of soft curses as feet are stepped on and elbows collide with boobs. 

The rest of them stretch up, rolling out shoulders and shaking out legs. Yang’s white tank top rides up on the front affording Blake a brief flash of a very toned stomach that no one in the world has any right to possess, momentarily distracting her from what she is meant to be doing. The blonde catches her staring, shooting her a salacious wink, which the journalist knows full well is pay back for the one she taunted the cowgirl with at the pool table.

Set against the backdrop of deep pinks and purples in the evening sky , Yang removes her cowboy hat, drawing her fingers through her thick luscious hair, intentionally making a huge display of setting it to rights, her gaze never leaving Blake’s, 

“I dunno about you, but I’m parched!” 

And Blake has no doubt of its meaning. It’s become a thing of theirs, this teasing word play back and forth with a very deliberate undertow. Someone coughs and Nora, a little too busy scanning the horizon doesn’t seem to catch it, announcing loudly, 

“I second that!... To the bar!” 

It’s a call to arms, energising the group and Blake runs round the car, checking and re-checking that all the doors are locked before tossing Weiss the keys who fumbles slightly before slipping them into her purse and setting off in the direction of the entrance, closely followed by the other occupants of the back seat.

Bringing up the rear, you could almost say trailing behind the others, the blonde and the brunette gently bump off each other with hips and shoulders, casting each other furtive glances and looking bashfully away, seemingly the cowgirl’s teasing confidence evaporating as they make their way across the dusty gravel car park closer to the entrance.

When the pair gets to the main doors, it’s just them alone, the faint sound of the interior mixing in the cawing of the birds lazily pin wheeling over ahead. Resting her hand on the huge brass handle, Blake stalls Yang’s entry, stepping a little closer. She catches how her lilac eyes dance, the way her lips glisten with moisture from being recently licked, that Blake desperately wants to taste and capture and how her ample chest raises ever so slightly as she takes an anticipatory breath. 

The electricity is palpable as Blake leans in closer and she’s inches from her goal when someone stumbles through the door, nearly knocking them both flying, mumbling their sorrys before staggering off round the corner followed by the sounds of explosive vomit.

“For fucks sake!” She curses under her breath as the moment is ruined.

Yang tips her cowboy hat down just a little as she pulls open the door, chivalrously inclining her head in invitation for Blake to go first, who curses inwardly at being robbed of the view of swaying hips clad in skin tight jeans held up by a chunky buckled tan brown belt.

They step in through the inner western saloon style swinging doors, because of course they are, and are suddenly hit with a bank of heat. There’s a sea of different coloured cowboy hats with brims of various sizes, and Blake is taken momentarily taken aback by how comfortably busy it is for such a rural place, but she supposes that after previous week the whole town has had, that the locals and the smattering of left over out of town cowboys and ranch hands, also need to blow off some steam from time to time.

The décor is similar to that of a fancy barn, with warm brown and russet eaves, criss crossing under the roof and strong wooden pillars lending them their support. Yang raises her voice over the noise of voices and an energetic country bop coming from a Jukebox, parting that once over the deceptively vast space used to be the local feed store way back when and that there has been many a Nashville super star drop by on their road to seeking fame and fortune, getting their start under its very rafters.

Intermingling smells of hops, cologne, sawdust and food waft over, but it’s still not enough to overpower the underlying intoxicating scent of fresh grass with hints of lavender as Yang presses closer, one gentle hand resting on the Blake’s lower back, tracing a slightly calloused thumb tantalisingly over a sliver of skin just above the lip of her low riding jeans, as she encouragingly guides her forward to catch up with the rest of the group. Even in this heat, it causes Blake’s skin to break out in tiny goose bumps, and it's her turn to suck a miniscule gasp.

As they are waiting to check their coats they lose sight of Nora, who takes off at breakneck speed through the crowd. Yang waves them off, assuring the others that she’ll take care of everything and catch up. Pyrrha, Weiss and Emerald dump their jackets into the blonde’s open arms and though she has no wish to be parted from the Cowgirl, Blake allows them to lead her in the direction the other waitress had set off in. 

Against one wall they pass by a few dartboards, a whack-a-mole with little gophers popping up intermittently, an arcade shotgun shooting gallery, its targets moving from left to right at different speeds and a few ranch hands, deep in concentration, tossing small cloth bags through a slightly off kilter board with holes in.

Nora weaves her way through the crowded tables, towards them, yelling with excitement, 

“The Keg Tower is free!”

The reason for Nora’s excitement rises from the crowd, like a beacon, much like a tree in a novel about lamenting elves and man’s last stand in the face of great evil, gleaming as light plays off the highly polished chrome. It’s a rather strange looking contraption sprouting multitudes of taps and handles. It’s perfectly situated in the centre of a circle, edged by other high wooden tables and chairs, causally occupied, affording a perfect view of the rather large dancefloor, littered with a light dusting of sawdust, and a stage that would put many a night club back in New York to shame. 

Rushing forward, Nora stands on the chrome ring lip beneath to gain some much needed extra height as she tries to hug it like a long lost lover, crooning, 

“I know baby! It’s been far too long!”

Antics of which garners a signature eye roll from Weiss and a guffaw from Emerald and Pyrrha. The short haired redhead suddenly ducks from view at the far side only to reappear with a sparkling glass in each hand, repeating the action until there are enough for everyone. She hands one to Blake, 

“Pick your poison!”

At a loss of what to do, Blake blinks in reply. Emerald begins to sagely explain as Pyrrha and Weiss pull their wallet and purse out at the same time as if it’s some sort of game of Quick Draw,

“You see this here?” The Saudi- American woman points to a computerised component on the side as Blake listens in enraptured attention, “You slide your card in there, punch in your pin number and then you can pour your own drinks. Every time the tap is activated; it gauges how much liquid is used, like for a pitcher or a pint, and then it takes the price off your balance!”

It truly is genius and Blake can see the novelty of it. The young heiress steps forward about to put in her sleek black credit card when Pyrrha, with one strong arm, blocks her, stating not unkindly,

“I’m buying this time! You pay for enough as it is.”

Weiss begins to protest, trying to wriggle underneath the immovable, statuesque Rodeo Star, who holds her back effortlessly. The tiny flaxen blonde’s pathetic attempts are comical as she tries her damndest to reach around her friend and get the solid plastic into the slot first, but her waiflike stature and lack of reach is her own worst enemy, as Pyrrha smoothly slips in her own bringing the computer to life. Tapping in her pin number, Pyrrha affectionately adds, 

“We’re not just friends with you for your money.”

From behind, Nora clasps Weiss by the upper arms, gently rocking her from side to side,

“But it helps!” 

It earns her a hard slap in the shoulder from Emerald. Pulling Weiss closer, the waitress plants a hard but affectionate kiss to her ivory white cheek,

“Awww, she knows I’m kidding. We love our Ice Princess!”

The middle Schnee faux glowers for a few seconds as she stuffs her credit card back into its snug in her purse. Blake leans sideways towards Emerald, murmuring, 

“Ice Princess?”

The store clerk shakes her head, with a genial smile,

“Don’t ask!” 

And Blake makes a mental note to, at some stage in the future, definitely get to the bottom of it as there is certainly an embarrassing story and teasing material in the nickname’s origins. 

Circling the Keg Tower, Nora makes a show of debating her drink of choice as Pyrrha begins to expertly fill up her own glass and Weiss watches owlishly, one eye slightly squinted and an eyebrow quirked. 

“Think this will suit you,” Emerald guides Blake to the other side, slapping a tap as she teases, “It’s a golden blonde, easy on the palate with an intoxicating hint of something- something,”

Blake knows there’s a good natured loaded double meaning in there and rises to the challenge, 

“Is that so?” She flicks her long dark silky hair over her now lightly sun kissed shoulder attempting to play it cool, as she parries, “And how would you know?”

With one hand resting on the tap, and the other on her hip, Emerald strikes a cocky pose, 

“Oh, I’m something of a connoisseur,-” there’s a slight pause as hooded dark brown eyes, that almost look burgundy in this light, wickedly take in Blake’s uncontrollable ever so slightly tensed posture, “- when it comes to beer!”

Blake purses her lips for a brief second, 

“You’re a bitch, you know that, right?”

Emerald breaks out into a light laugh, 

“Yup, and it’s partially why you like me so much!” she inclines her head towards the tap, “Come on, girl, let’s see that New York City wrist action.”

With a shake of her head at the horrific innuendo that Yang would be most certainly appreciate, Blake steps up placing her glass underneath the spout and she’s about to pull the tap when from beside her, Emerald repositions it at a 45 degree angle lifting it up, with practised ease, until the slanted glass is barely a few millimetres away from the nozzle,

“You wanna keep the flow nice and steady, so it builds a frothy head, but not too much head.” She adds jokingly as an afterthought, “- Not that there can ever be such a thing as too much head, but in this case, it’s a no no.”

Blake casually bumps the woman with her hip at her cheekiness, 

“Girrrl, You’re on fire tonight!”

“I know, right!”

Light brown fingers, curl round Blake’s on the tap a she slowly pushes it down, before retreating and takes to watching with the air of a professional and their prize student. The light amber liquid flows down the side, swirling in the bottom of the glass and the store clerk nods in encouragement at Blake’s look of uncertainty.

Over the far side, Nora yells in triumph at finally coming to a decision, unceremoniously shoving her glass under the spout beside Pyrrha.

Maybe she slips or maybe it’s just Nora’s playfulness, but the liquid spurts from the nozzle, hitting the lip of the glass sending the liquid on a trajectory that squarely sprays the Rodeo Star in the face.

Nora doubles over in laughter as Emerald instinctively hurries over to the other side, flipping the tap back to rights and grabbing the glass from Nora’s barely grasping hand whilst Pyrrha blinks at the unexpected wet onslaught that’s dribbling down her face in divlets onto to her chest. Weiss is cackling laughing, trying to hide her guffaws behind her hand, her eyes becoming watery as Nora is slapping her knee, her laughter becoming howls. 

Wiping at her face in an attempt to get clean, Pyrrha seems still stunned as Nora and Weiss are now using each other as a way to not collapse on the floor with tears in their eyes. Blake, flicks her own tap up as she can't stop herself from joining in as she watches the grinning Pyrrha try to flick the excess liquid on to the floor but there is just too much. Catching her eye, the journalist offers, 

“I’ll go get something!”

“That would be grand! Thank you! ” 

It’s when Blake heads to the bar to retrieve some paper towels or a cloth, or anything really to clean up the mess that she spots Yang, over to the left, staring wistfully up at a framed photograph on the wall.

Nodding at a bar man in thanks, she collects the warm cloth, before she cautiously approaches, equal parts fascinated and having no wish to disturb this oddly private moment in the fairly busy bar.

The Cowgirl seems to be talking to herself before she raises her bottle to the photograph, as if cheer-sing to some ghostly companion and taking a huge mouthful. 

As Blake draws closer she calls out over the music, to give the blonde a chance to gather herself, placing a gentle hand on her left shoulder,

“Yang?” 

There’s a beat before the blonde turns, Blake picks up on the brief flash of melancholy that in a blink is gone replaced with a wide smile and dancing eyes. Blake’s own flicker to the photograph depicting a woman with dark hair wearing aviators, flashing a bit of a familiar feeling smile leaning casually against an open topped bi seater plane. It puts Blake in the mind of Amelia Earhart. Underneath it reads a simple, 

‘Summer Rose, 1997’

And the pieces of a puzzle that always niggled at her, that exuberant, innocent Ruby didn’t share her sister or her father’s last name of Xiao Long, finally slot into place. 

“Who’s that?”

Picking at the label of the beer bottle, Yang avoids Blake’s gaze, instead focusing on the photograph. 

“Summer Rose, - ” She stands back a bit, tipping up her chin to take in the whole wall, making a sweeping gesture, “- As ya can see, she was a bit’o a local legend round these parts.”

There is a fierce yet quiet pride to the action. 

Choosing not to press her suspicions and respect Yang’s explanation for what it is, Blake takes a step back, and begins to pick out other photographs of the woman standing beside glittering trophies, nestled in between others showing various cowboys and cowgirls ruddy cheeked and wide smiles, with ribbons or their prize winning animal, and signed pictures of the aforementioned Country Music stars. Some are black and white, some old with age and others, bright and crisp in comparison, far more recent and digital. Blake’s pretty certain she spies an action shot of Pyrrha mid rodeo, and Yang’s distinctive golden locks, on top of a spotted horse mid turn round a barrel on this cherished Wall of Fame.

Yang continues, 

“If you’re wantin or be needin a bit of luck, you throw her a cheers, it’s a dumb thing the lads started doin, and now it’s sorta stuck.”

With piqued curiosity, Blake can’t help herself, though she’s pretty certain she knows the answer, she drops her voice an octave as she purrs, 

“And what is it that you are feeling in need of a bit of luck with?”

Yang turns towards her, eyes raking up and down Blake’s body, trapping the side of her bottom lip between gleaming white teeth. Nora’s distinctive squeal drifts over from the crowd, breaking the moment and springing Yang into action as she reaches for Blake’s hand and begins leading her through the tables and punters back to where they left their evening’s cohorts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HOLD ONTO YOUR COWBOY HATS CAUSE THERE'S ABOUT TO BE A BEEEHAW!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 17, 549 words of 
> 
> FLUFF.. FLIRTING , FOLLOWED BY FLUFF ..... SMUT, SMUTTY SMUT SMUTZ
> 
> Hope ye enjoy!  
> .  
> .  
> .

Finishing their first drinks, their second attempt at the Keg Tower goes much smoother, the only difference being that Weiss opts for a fruity cocktail laced with white rum instead It is as they are regaling Blake with funny stories of their childhoods that the music cuts out and there comes an almighty bellowing of a bull calf over the speakers that causes the city slicker to duck in fright and the other girls to laugh out loud. 

There comes a guy's voice over the speakers, crackling with being too close to the mic, 

"Hello! Hello! Ladies and Gents... but especially .... " There is pause. and deeper tone as he growls in showmanship " - The Ladies! A deafening hooting an hollerin with loud claps fills the bar at that. As it dies down just a fraction , the MC continues, "-You know what time it is?"

Nora is standing on her tippy-toes trying to catch a glimpse over the sea of hats. In frustration, she steps on the lip of the chromed ring, holding onto a tap and Pyrrha rushes to support her incase she slips off. Weiss disinterested jostled the ice in her cocktail with the straw and Emerald wipes at the mess they have made at the Keg Tower, unable to let go of being a barmaid. As Blake sips sedately at her second drink, slightly confused at what could be going on, she feels Yang step up beside her as she shouts over the din, 

"Get ready for this, darlin!"

Blake eyes just so happen to land on Nora , in the middle of taking a draft of her beer , when the Lone Ranger theme tune starts playing intermingled with a strange unbefore heard mechanical sound accompanied by the previous bellowing bull calf. The redhead freezes, mid drink, lips still attached to the glass as eyes go wide swinging in the direction of the MC. Her cheeks are puffed out like a hamster and Blake's own eyes water as she watches the waitress gulp back the huge amounts of liquid, before screaming at the top of her lungs, 

"IT'S COWBOY TIME!"

She jumps down off the lip and in heady excitement grabs Weiss by the hands, swinging her round and round like a whirligig in time with the crescendo of the music. The MC announces as the music dies down and Weiss graciously bows to her dancing partner, the pair of them in fits of giggles .

"You got it Ladies! .... It's that time of year again .... " Another pause for dramatic effect, before he bellows into the microphone. "- IT'S THE BILLY THE BULL CHALLENGE!" 

There comes thunderous applause and whooping, Pyrrha , Weiss , Nora and even Emerald joins in, whipping their arms over their heads as if attempting to lasso some unruly steer whilst the journalist is lost in it all. Blake catches the look on Yang's face, a flush to her cheeks, the broadest grin she has ever seen and eyes sparkling in the light of the bar. The excitement is palpable as the MC tries to explain,

"Alright, you know the rules and for those of you who don't and are new to town, ..Are.. .. You ... In ... For .. A .. Treat!....For THREE BUCKS a ride, you can challenge Billy the Bull!...... If you beat him, 300 dollars.... Yes you heard me..." Nora lets out a squeal, jumping up and down, clapping her hands together, ... "- THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS is yours to keep.. Now, if there is two winners, you split the pot but is there are more , it goes toooooo...." The lights at the other side of the bar begin flashing red as the MC growls ..."- SUDDEN DEATH!!"

Immediately, Pyrrha whips round, bright green eyes narrowing as they land on Yang. Fingering the crimson stitched rim of her dark brown cowboy hat she stalks round the Keg Tower, Nora and Weiss hanging onto each other like two homesteaders shaking in their skirts in mock fright. Blake almost expects them both to scuttle inside a non existent building , slam close shutters and peer out from the side of the doorway. It strikes Blake as utterly ridiculous but some sort of much loved play being acted out each person with a well versed part She is caught by surprise to find Emerald going along with it too as she grabs the journalist, encouraging her to retreat to a safe distance. 

The Rodeo Star and the Golden Cowgirl step out, facing each other, both taking a stance that Blake recognises from old western movies, neither woman taking their eyes off each other. A few nearby punters taking notice nudge their companions to watch the display.

Nora's wide eyes are darting between the pair and Blake has to stifle a giggle as the waitress actually holds up her hands to her mouth as if nibbling on fingernails ,adding a whimsy to the faux fraught tension. Every movement is played for dramatic effect and Blake has a sudden flash of these two women as gap tooth children, playing out this scenario over and over, pretending to be their favourite Wild West characters until they have it down to perfection. 

Pyrrha's head is tipped down just a little, every so slightly to the side, as if she's a hawk watching prey from under her brim, Blake catches a brief flash of glinting bright green before they are once more hidden from view. Thumbs turned into her hips, fingers twitch as if feeling the ghost of two pistols. There's a tinkle of spurs as she shifts the heel of her boot to correct her stance. Not to be out done with the amatuer dramatics, Yang has pulled a red neckerchief over her nose, she uses one finger to tip back the brim of her hat before returning them to her hips mimicking Pyrrha. Blake whispers out the side of her mouth, 

"Where's the tumbleweed?" 

Emerald gives her a small shake, 

"Shhhshh!"

It seems as if Emerald's quiet scolding effects everyone nearby as a slight hush fans out from that point in the bar around them. Yang growls, like a villain from a show about wild west androids with questionable morals,

"Nikos."

The Rodeo Star fake spits out an imaginary lump of tobacco,

"Xiao Long"

Pyrrha quirks her head a little and it's as if she doesn't have to raise her voice at all as she says in the most mock country and western accent Blake has ever heard, 

"Emerald, I be thankin you kindly to be doin the honours!"

Both the Rodeo Star and the Golden Cowgirl bunch There's a fraught tension as both women once again twitch their fingers at imaginary guns in their holsters.

"One!" Emerald calls out, raising her hand,

Both women shift onto their toes.

"Two!" 

Blake witnesses Weiss actually cover over her eyes.

"Three!" The store clerk draws it out, as Blake watches in mounting fascination, she brings down her hand and yells, "Go!"

There's a flurry of red and yellow and sawdust kicked up by cowboy boots as both women dash to the Keg Tower, trying to dislodge their wallets from back pockets. There comes distinctive slapping sound of leather against wood and Yang lets out a loud whoop! She spins round, searching for Blake, before skipping over and hugging the journalist round the neck in celebration, who due to her slight shortness is momentarily squashed into Yang's soft breasts and she catches a whiff of perfume and butterscotch. No sooner as she registered it, she is let go, yet the cowgirl's arm remains on her shoulders pulling her in close and guiding her back over to the others and the Keg Tower.

Infected by the giddiness of the spectacle, Blake reaches up to pull down the neckerchief and she has an overwhelming urge to kiss her. She is about to lean up to press one to her cheek when Yang suddenly leans with one elbow on the counter and her foot on the bottom lip of the Keg Tower, drawing her just out of reach. Pyrrha moves closer, mirroring the action, their charade still playing out,

"Xiao Long..... What will it be?"

"The usual!" Yang removes her arm from Blake's shoulders, high fiving the Rodeo Star with a smile, "C'mon then. Let's do this!"

They all grab their drinks and make a beeline over to the small crowd that has gathered over the other side of the bar blocking off a huge square. Following Nora, who worms her way through the crowd like a pro using her small stature to her advantage and dragging the heiress behind her by the wrist , a tiny flash of distinctive flaxen alerting the others as to their progress, they arrive at elbow height barrier covered in padding and cowboys and ranch hands politely make space for the group with touches to their hats and mumbled apologies.

Shuffling closer, she squeezes into a gap made for her by Yang and Emerald and the city slicker glimpses her first ever mechanical bull. In the centre of ring of red padding, similar to a bounce house , there rises what Blake thinks of as a very crude recreation of a creature synonymous with the Old West and once the backbone of America. A symbol of wealth and prestige, of the home range, of hard work and can do attitude. She could never imagine the plains once teeming as far as the eye could see in an ocean of this particular creature. 

It sort of looks like a bull but then again not. It has a caricature of a bovine's face, wide round red nostrils and a derpy looking tongue sticking out of its mouth. On its back it has a hump that leads down to smooth angular sides. Just behind the hump a smooth shiny looking painted saddle. It even has floppy ears and a tail. All this is a top a very sturdy looking iron stem that disappears into the padding. . Up on a dias to one side she spies the MC and another man dressed in cowboy gear stood behind a set of controls. Up on the wall a digital clock set to 00:00 winks red. As she is trying to make sense of it, the MC announces, 

"It looks like we have our first challenger!" The surrounding crowd whoop and applaud and Blake blinks as Nora makes her way through a tiny panel side door in her socks. The MC jumps down from his perch, coming to the side door, "-So lil Lady, what's your name?"

"Nora!" She yells excitedly into the mic causing the MC to pull it back as her voice crackles across the speakers followed by a high pitched whine.

"So Nora.... Do you think you have what it takes to beat Billy the Bull?"

"Well I always enjoy a bit of Prime Western in between my legs.... If you know what I mean?" 

The crowd roars in a mingle of loud laughter and playful gasps of horror. Beside her Emerald is trying to suck in air, hitting Blake on the shoulders turning almost purple choking on guffaws at Weiss, who has one hand over mouth looking scandalised. On the other side, Pyrrha sticks her fingers in her mouth letting out a piercing wolf whistle.

A member of staff kindly helps Nora over the treacherous padding as she threatens to slip on its surface. At first she struggles to get her leg over the creatures wide back much to the amusement of the gathered crowd., the tiny waitress playing up to it. She takes a moment to settle her skirt as the member of staff encourages her to hold onto the rope, sprouting just in front of the hump, with one hand. He gives her a pat on the shoulder and waves a signal to the MC. 

"Are .. You.. READY?" 

With a huge grin, the small redhead whips her hand over her head. There comes a hiss and music starts. As the bull dips the clock on the wall starts flashing. The bull slowly spins round before making its first dip down, its haunches rising at 45 degree , then rocking back. It seems almost gentle, Nora able to keep up until it spins around a bit faster in one direction only to suddenly buck as it swings in the opposite way. The crowd cheers as Nora begins to slip to one side, holding on for dear life as the bull begins to erratically rear and buck before sending Nora flying on the dip down and left twist, dumping her onto the soft padding. 

She stands up holding her arms above her head like she is a boxer from Philadelphia who has just defeated a humongous amount of steps much to the delight of the patrons of the bar.

She disappears out of the side door only for the crowd at the barrier to part allowing her to join her friends with slaps on the back as she passed. With a flushed face and hair in disarray she rejoins the group, leaning on the barrier as she tried to stuff her feet back in her shoes. 

"What did ya think?" She yells over the music as another girl tries her luck. 

"Your technique was a little off, but for a novice, you did really well!" Pyrrha yells back. 

At that Nora's chest swells out with pride.

"Thirsty work that is! How do you girls do it, I'll never know? " She grabs her drink, necking it back and letting out a loud belch, "- I'm off to the bar...." Weiss raises her glass with a tip in the universal symbol of a refill. Nora nods, adding, "- Don't any of you go on it until I'm back. You hear?"

The group returned to watching the bull, screaming and yelling in encouragement as other contenders showed off their skills. Yang and Pyrrha visibly impressed at one girl who made it to almost 5 seconds. Suddenly, Blake is aware of a hand trailing down her back and thumb rubbing at a sliver of skin just above the lip of her jeans. She turns to look up at lilac eyes dancing with mischief and there is a wicked quality to the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of the cowgirl's lips and Blake knows what is coming even before the words are uttered, 

"So, darlin.... How about it?"

Bracing her two hands on the padding Blake bows her head, tapping her toe against the bottom of the barrier, aware that four pairs of eyes are on her. She has no wish to seem like a spoilsport and she won't lie, she is rather curious to see how she might fare. Looking up, she catches the heiress watching her intently and a crafty thought comes to mind. In a bid to dislodge a wisp of hair she gives a shake of her head as she locks eyes with Weiss and announces, 

"I'll do it, if she does!"

There's a collective OOO from Pyrrha and Emerald at the challenge, much like children when one of the class has done something terribly naughty. The blonde pulls Blake into her, murmuring against her temple, 

"That's what I like to see!" 

With arms crossed, the heiress narrows her eyes, a defiant cock to her jaw . Blake shoots her an apologetic shrug in reply. Never taking burning eyes off the journalist, the heiress finishes her drink placing it demurely on the drinks shelf of the barrier. 

"You're on!" Before anyone can react, the Accountant suddenly shrinks by five inches barely coming to Blake's shoulder and just as Nora makes it back with the drinks, she dumps her heels into the store clerks arms, "Take care of these for me!" 

Before turning round and, to everyone's surprise, vaulting over the barrier with the grace of a gymnast. With a drink in each hand, Nora exclaimed, 

"What the hell did I just miss?"

And if Nora's approach was comical, the heiresses is anything but. It's not quite a hush, but it's a murmur rippling through the crowd like a massive flock of starlings, the type that is so big it blackens patches of the Autumn sky. And the New Yorker realises that everyone in that bar knows who the flaxen haired woman is, knows who she is related to. It's not cruel whisperings , if anything its more awe and surprise at seeing such a rare and unexpected sight.

The middle Schnee, the one who is expected to bear the load of Atlas on those narrow and delicate shoulders, stands in the centre of the gladiatorial arena of cowboys and her peers, proudly and defiantly, the bar light twinkling off light blue with silver accents of her dress looking like a vision amongst the country garb. 

In surprise the MC almost forgets himself and is only brought to life when Yang, Pyrrha, Emerald and Nora start banging against the barrier, yelling and whistling in encouragement.

"Ok... ok.." The MC whips the cable of the mic behind him so as not to trip, "- Miss Schnee, everybody!"

Ranch hands, cowboys and businessmen alike are galvanised by the opportunity, rushing to be the first to get to a symbol of social status in this town and help her mount Billy the Bull. Yang lets out a loud snicker as they are trying to fawn over her, one guy catching Weiss by the waist and lifting her with ease as she tries to hold her skirt down between her thighs so as not to flash anyone an eyeful and run the risk of single handedly destroying the illustrious Schnees legacy. The cowgirl leans in closer to Blake and tells her, 

"They're barking up the wrong tree with that one."

"You mean to say she's...."

The cowgirl looks around as if expecting gossiping grannies to appear like spectres out of the bars very walls, 

"Shhh...." Satisfied no one is listening, the blonde continues . "- She might not realise yet, but she's smitten with Ruby .... Just about everyone who matters knows it..... Except, of course, Weiss and Ruby, who is in a world of her own half the time..." Yang takes a sip of her beer, "-Plus I bet Papa Schnee wouldn't be a might too happy .. ...It wouldn't be the first time a patriarch has disowned a daughter over who they love " Blake notices how Yang's eyes flicker over to Emerald before returning to watch the display in the centre of the ring. She adds as an afterthought, "- I got lucky with mine."

And Blake can't help but wonder at the nugget of dark information she has been given as she casts her eyes over to the Saudi-American barmaid who is holding a pair of high heels probably worth more than her car, sans new engine. Putting it to one side, she concentrates on an issue that's much closer to home.... Maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's the strangeness of this backwater town in comparison to New York, but Blake presses,

"Aren't you gonna tell them?" 

Yang shakes her head, 

"Nope.... As Pyrrha would say, 'Let the chips fall where they may.' ... They'll figure it out for themselves.... Eventually."

Taking a sip of her drink, Blake regards Yang thoughtfully as the cowgirl returns to slapping the padded barrier, their conversation forgotten. There comes a hiss as the bull begins it's decent and the music begins to play. Nora suddenly screams over the crowd, 

"Show it who's boss, Schneester!" 

The bull begins to dip and spin and the heiress is being flung like a rag doll as it bucks it's rear. Her long ponytail is whipping back at forth as it ascends and twists. Blake finds herself screaming out, wishing in her bones for Weiss to make a good go of it. 

"Come on! Come on... Hold on... Just a little longer!"

As the bull dips and cruelly twists an unexpected sharp right, the doll like woman is sent pinwheeling leftways through the air, thrown fully clear of the bronco and bounces off the cushioning with such force she actually clears off the material by a few inches. There's a tense few seconds as the bar collectively holds its breath until Weiss props herself up on her arms and breaks out into peels of laughter. 

A ranch hand rushes to help her to her feet and Weiss is doubled over. He lifts her at the waist over the barrier and the heiress sinks into the awaiting arms of Pyrrha, who drops her gently to the ground. Nora barrels into her, hugging her round the middle and picking her up so the heiresses tip toes drag across the floor, 

"I'm so proud of you!"  
.  
"Well folks, what a valiant effort by Miss Schnee.... A whole second and a half. Not bad... Not bad at all..." Whipping out the cable of the mic like a bullwhip, the MC asks, "Do we have any more takers?"

Blake shrinks down and she's hoping against hope that there is at least one or two more before she has to make good on her challenge, but Yang takes off her hat, waving it excitedly over her head, 

"Over here!" She points down at Blake, "This one!"

"Right folks, it would seem we have one more.." He beckons in the journalist's direction, "Come on out here and try your luck!"

Emerald yells over the noise, 

"SHE'S FROM NEW YORK!" 

The MC pauses, making a comical show for the crowd, as he poses pulling a face. He holds the mic close. 

"Folks..... " He looks around , "It would seem we haaaaaave A .....Citeeeey. - " He punches the air as he hollers the last word, rolling it out " - SLICKAAAAR!" 

There's a deafening cacophony of hoots, stamping of feet and YEEEHAWWW from somewhere in the back. As she is struggling to unzip her boots, she uses Yang's shoulder as support. 

"I hate you right now!"

The blonde grins, 

"No you dont!"

Blake playfully grouses, 

"Full of yourself, aren't you?"

Yang replies with an altogether too cocky wink, before suddenly becoming serious, 

"Right, darlin... The trick is.." Blake notices Pyrrha shuffle closer leaning in, looking away as Yang catches her, " Don't think I don't see you, Nikos! " Angling her body away, she whispers in Blake's ear, the hot breath on her conch causing a luxurious shudder down her spine, " It's all in the hips.. like one long body roll!" 

Blake tips her head towards Yang, 

"So kind of like a pole dancer?" 

"I ain't ever seen one of those, but sure!"

And Blake cant help but purr in the blonde's ear, 

"Maybe I should show you how sometime?"

The cowgirl blinks and licks her lips. concentration momentarily broken.

"You know how to do that?"

"Sure, " Blake flicks at a blonde curl, "All us New York girls know how to dance..." Enjoying Yang's rapt attention, she adds, "It's all in the hips, like you said."

The MC calls out across the mic. 

"Are you ready girls?"

And suddenly Blake finds herself being ushered over the barricade in her socks by a firm hand on her ass and a pat on her back with Yang hot on her heels. She is glad of the company as she suddenly becomes self conscious at all the eyes of the crowd on her as she tries to cross the padded floor as gracefully as possible. Up close, the bull looks far bigger than it did from the safety of the bar floor and she almost bails only to find a supportive hand at her back. 

"Up you get, darlin!" 

With a shaky nervous breath, she hooks her toe into the tiny lip underneath and she curses at the countryside wondering why they cant have normal steps like normal people, before swinging her leg over, only for Yang to catch her at the belt before she threatens to slide straight off the other side and become a contender for the shortest bull ride in the history of mechanical bull riding. Placing both her hands on the hump she lifts herself up and is about to slide back into a more comfortable position only to be stopped, 

"Sit as close as you can to that, try not to grip too tight with your legs, infact, just try keep your lower half loose altogether and hold onto this." Yang holds out a fraying piece of thick rope. Its rough to the touch and now Blake understands why so many people out here have calluses on their hands, one cowgirl in particular. She goes to wrap it round her hand only to once again be stopped as the cowgirl patiently explains, "-Don't wanna be doing that, last thing we need is your fingers popping off, eh?"

Blake shoots her a worried glance. 

"I'm sort of attached to my fingers, Yang!"

The blonde gives her an easy smile, 

"Me too, darlin, me too!" 

And Blake doesn't have time to think of the implications of it as the cowgirl slaps her on the rump, backing away and mouthing good luck. Whipping her head around she spots the girls all eagerly leaning forward on the barrier, exactly where Yang is on the inside, just as the bull lets out it's angry hiss. Blake blows out a breath like she's a blue whale breaking the surface, repeating in her head like a mantra. 

"It's all in the hips , It's all in the hips".

The contraption beneath her begins to dip and she rolls her hips with it leaning back. Billy makes his ascent and Blake rolls with it, feeling the miniscule vibration on the left just before the machine swings right. Between her thighs the fake steer bucks up again as the journalist begins to find a rhythm not fighting the motion but relaxing into it, rolling her body up and down as she had been instructed and she has the dirtiest thought. The rocking motion reminds her of sex, the rolling of hips, the speed picking up when chasing an orgasm and an idea strikes her, as she mimics the old black and white movies, whipping one arm over her head, with the an image of a cowgirls hips bucking underneath her. Lost in the moment she lets out aloud, 

"YEEHAAAW!" 

It certainly is a heady rush and she can now understand what Nora means by Prime Western between her thighs and why the waitress enjoys the bar so much.

Her concentration slips and she loses her rhythm as Billy bucks to one side, and then twists on the down only to sharply come back followed by another dip that sends Blake flipping over his shoulder and landing on the soft squishy padding with a hard puft. It's only when shes led on her back on the cushion and the crowd is stamping their feet, whooping and yelling that it hits Blake what she has done. Her cheeks burning she lets out a loud laughing shriek and hides her face in Yang's shoulder as the woman tries to help her to her feet.

"Jesus Christ, darlin!" Yang shouts over the noise, "- You put on one hell of a show!... It was so fucking hot!" 

Blake peers up at the blonde, as it's the first time she has ever heard her curse out loud, apart from maybe the odd God damnit, which technically don't count and sure as shit, she's giving Blake the same hungry look she did when she took back her cowboy hat on the side of the dusty road and told the brunette to follow. Yang leans into her ear, trying to be heard over the noise

"Are you drunk?"

"Not really."

Its with feather light fingers on her hips, from behind, and a hot breath ghosting against the conch of her ear, that Yang asks, 

"Good, cause I was kind of hopin, after these drinks, we could both switch to somethin a lil softer?"

It's a simple request but loaded with meaning as it changes the evening from one of possibilities to one of assurance of where this is all heading. Blake slightly inclines her head, almost resting her forehead just below the cowgirl's temple, looking through her dark lowered lashes, when she breathes in reply, 

"I'd like that."

The forgotten MC shouts over the mic, 

"Just over three seconds folks...... I'd be watching out for that one. Won't be long before she's coming after a few people's titles!-" The crowd laughs as Yang waves her cowboy hat over her head. "-Is there anymore willing to test their skills tonight?"

As Blake is getting herself over the barrier, she spies Pyrrha, bootless, sliding her leg over with a practiced ease, the crowd's mood changes from one of good natured joking at the spectacle to one of seriousness. She hears someone yell out at the unfairness of it as she settles in beside the three remaining girls, who congratulate her on a good effort. Yang leans casually against the inside of barrier.

"What we agreed, Nikos?"

"Same as always , Xiao Long!" 

The cowgirl leans back over the barrier, whispering with a soft press of lips to the journalist's ear, 

"Get ready to see some real hip action!"

As quickly as she was there she is gone, taking off after Pyrrha towards the centre of the arena. Taking a much needed sip of her drink, Blake tries to catch her breath as the blonde and the redhead seem deep in discussion with the MC. 

"What are they on about?" She asks, trying to gain some composure and not alert the others to what had just transpired,

"Nobody knows,-" Weiss offers, "-It's the same bet all the time, but no one has ever figured out what it is."

Slinging her arm unsteadily over Blake's shoulder, Nora asks, 

"Maaay beee, you could get it out of her? " She wriggles her eyebrows, "Work that magic charm of yours, eh?" 

Blake indignantly replies, 

"I don't have magic charm?"

Emerald snorts into her drink, lightly tapping the journalist on the shoulder. 

"Oh, you sweet summer child!"

-X-X-X-X

Standing in between the Rodeo Star and the Golden Cowgirl, the MC put Blake in mind of announcer in a Sunday morning wrestling show she used to watch as a child, with glistening brawny men and women following fake scripts.

"As everyone knows,- " The MC gestures between Pyrrha and Yang, "-These two are banned from entering the mechanical bull challenge. However! - " He holds up a hand, turning in a circle, "-That is not to say that we can't have a bit of fun?.... We've been given permission by the staff to have a different sort of competition.... " He swept one hand in the direction of the statuesque redhead, " - Pyrrha and..- " He gestured with the other, "-Yang, are both going to take on Billy the Bull at FULL THROTTLE! - " He continues over the excitement of the patrons.." - Who ever lasts the longest wins, whatever it is these two have agreed upon, - " There came a chuckle from the crowd, " - So, pick your contender and choose wisely . FIVE MINUTES TO PLACE YOUR BETS!"

A murmur goes up round the bar, joined by the scraping back of chairs, just evident over the music on the speakers as punters and patrons rush to get refreshments before the entertainment starts. 

"Oi, Nora!" A guy dressed in jeans, a navy and white dress shirt, closed at the collar with a bollo ambles over, with a genial smile. He's fresh faced with a slight pink mottle creeping up his cheeks and there a hint of fresh soap in the air around him. As he arrives, he removes his hat, nodding at the other women, nervously twisting it in his hands, "Ladies."

Emerald waves her hand a little, in greeting, 

"Hi Dale. 

Weiss simply lifts her glass in acknowledgement and the waitress lets out an ecstatic, drawn out,

"Dale!"

The man grins at the greeting, 

"How's your night going, Nora?"

"Excellent!" She reaches up, squeezing his cheek like he's a toddler and she his Aunt though he must be older than her, "Look at this lil cutie! Lookit this face!"

The mottle at his cheek turns a shade darker as the rest of the group giggle at her rather tipsy antics. Once free of the onslaught, he spins the hat in his hands,

"I was wonderin if you'd gimme the inside scoop? Ya know, be helpin me out a lil. I'd be mighty appreciative of it. There'll even be a bit of somethin - somethin behind the bar for ya."

Taking a step back, the small waitress stands at military rest except her chest is puffed out and her hands on her hips, squinting one eyed at the guy,

"Dale Matthews, you better not be asking me what I think you're asking me? - " Dale has the sense to look a little bit guilty.. She points a waving finger at him in mock affrontage, "- Are you asking me to choose between my two oldest friends" She shouts over her shoulder, " - No offense, "

Momentarily pausing from investigating the bottom of her nearly empty cocktail with the straw, Weiss looks up, 

"None taken!"

Nora continues, 

"You come here, and ask me to go against the Valkyrie code?"

"There's a code?" Blake asks. 

Emerald shrugs in reply, 

"Apparently!"

"Ah c'mon Nora, -" Dale whines, "- I said there was a lil somethin-somethin behind the bar for ya!"

Once again Nora squints at him, leaning forward a little unsteadily, reminding Blake of a pirate with a Black Spot and a penchant for rum,

"An what exactly is this somethin-somethin you speak of?"

"Whatever you want to be orderin,- " As Nora's eye brighten, he hastily adds, "- Within reason o' course!"

Standing up straight, Nora slaps her hands together rubbing them with glee. She cast a quick glance at the others, tapping Dale twice in quick succession on his big barrel chest,

"They'veBoth BeenDrinkingBut Xiao Long WonTheWalletDraw!"

Blake catches a mischievous smirk in her face before she streaks off towards the bar in a blur much to the dismayed cries of Weiss and Emerald, in unison,

"NORA!!"

Dale shouted after her, 

"Be thankin you kindly Nora!" He hangs there for a moment, as if he doesn't know quite what to do in the present company. Slipping his hat back on his head, he mumbles, backing away slowly doffing his brim "- Have a good evenin Ladies." 

Watching his retreating back as he made his way back to his friends who were slapping 20's on the table, the heiress begins

"Is it me,..or is it every time we bump into that boy he always has an excuse for there to be," She took on his accent, " .. a 'lil somethin-somethin' behind the bar for her?"

Emerald turns back round to lean her elbows on the drinks shelf of the barrier, 

"She could do a lot worse. Dale is a teddy bear. If things don't work out with bakery boy, who knows?" Taking a sip of her half full drink, she asks, "Blake, spill the tea... You've got to know something? It's not like her to be so tight lipped."

The journalist takes another slow sip of her drink, being in no rush to get to the bottom of her glass or have the alcohol hit her too hard. 

"I don't know what to tell you, other than it's taking her longer and longer to sign off on the deliveries when he's the one making the drop!"

Emerald and Weiss share a knowing look, 

"Is that so?" 

"And she's the one teasing me about Mercury?... I see how it is!"

Blake is about to reply when the MC calls for the full attention of Hoedown Loedown. 

"I hope you've made your bets folks, cause this one is gearing up to be a doozie!" Pyrrha and Yang join him in the centre of the ring. He seems to be feeling around in his front pocket before holding up something. He hands the mic to Yang, "- What will it be? Heads or Tails?"

Yang says into the mic,

"Heads, Garrett! ... I think I'll go with heads!"

"You heard her folks! Heads it is!"

He flips the coin into the air and Blake can almost imagine everyone's eyes in the bar following its arc , like a bunch of Magpies, as it reaches its peak before tumbling down, being snatched expertly out of the air by the MC and slapped to the back of his other hand. He gives a little peek, before showing it to the two women who both nod in agreement that all is fair and above board. He reaches for the mic back and announces, 

"Tails!"

The cowgirls acts out as if she truly is disappointed that she lost, with a tightening of lips and a shake of her head, whilst Pyrrha gives a tiny fistpump close to her hip. Half the patrons let out a groan as they too are feeling their chosen contenders defeat and the other half cheers at the win. 

"What'll it be Pyrrha? Who's going first?"

"Oh, I dunno ..? -"The Rodeo Star rolls her shoulders with her thumbs hanging off her belt, relaxed and as if this competition is already won, "What do you think folks?"

There are mingled shouts from the crowd,

"First... Second.. First... Second!"

Yang stands, hands tucked under her armpits with pursed lips and a burgeoning grin threatening to burst across her face, as she looks over at Pyrrha who seems to be weighing up the advice of the revellers. It's in that moment that Blake realises that there is so much more to this than sheer athletic skill but also a hint of showmanship, of pandering to fans, drawing them in and making them feel like they too are an integral part of this competition. And it is something Pyrrha is very skilled at, toeing the line between gracious and appreciative and quietly cock sure of her own abilities without being arrogant, the qualities of a Super Star, no wonder she has garnered a legion of adoring fans on the Rodeo circuit of America.

"I think I ought to give Xiao Long a chance? Let her go first, eh?"

At that playful challenging slight between friends, the bar breaks out into scandalised OOOH'S and AHHH'S! Even Blake finds herself insulted on Yang's behalf. Nora comes back, with a tray laden with drinks she pops on a nearby empty table. Handing them out, Weiss flapping her hands in a gimme motion much like a toddler wanting a treat until her slender hands wrap round the stem and she tries to follow the straw with her mouth, the waitress gives one to Emerald who pulls a face at the first sip, and offers one to Blake and says,

"Oh, Xiao Long aint gonna take that lying down!"

Blake politely refuses the offered glass, pointing at her remaining drink in hand. Catching the action, Emerald takes her mouth off the straw with quirk of a manicured eyebrow,

"Looks like it's gonna be the only thing she doesn't take lying down tonight!"

Blake's face flushes crimson, and curses a friendly, 

"Oh! Fuck off!" 

The three other women break in to cackles of laughter as the journalist takes a sip of her drink, avoiding their gaze, and returns her attentions back to the arena. Pyrrha retreats to the side of the arena as in one fluid movement Yang vaults onto the steer with no need of the underneath step. A hush descends through the crowd, replaced with a tense seriousness in direct contrast to the earlier jovial frivolity afforded the previous contestants. 

The cowgirl positions herself, taking time and care to get herself exactly where she wants giving an experimental tug on the rope, and Blake can suddenly imagine her on the back of a horse, checking her stirrups, drawing the reins through her hands, making sure of her seat and her steed, eyes focusing on a point in the distance mentally preparing herself before setting off on a trail that snakes over the horizon.

It's an image that causes her stomach to give a little flip and she wonders if it is just this woman or a secret undiscovered kink as she finds herself leaning forward eagerly and an uncontrollable squeezing close of her legs. Seemingly satisfied, Yang once more checks her grip on the rope before signaling with her left that she is ready to start. The MC yells, 

"ARE YOU REAAADDY!"

There comes a deafening roar in reply. Billy gives a loud hiss as he is lowered down and the music begins to play. The crowd joins in, 

"ONE!"

Weiss yells, 

"Emerald, 5 bucks on Xiao Long!"

"TWO!"

The store clerk yells back,

"I'll take those odds!"

"THREE!"

Blake has to shout to be heard, 

"What about you, Nora?"

"I never bet on them. It's kinda not fair!"

Billy lets out an almighty bellow as he takes his first dip and slow spin and he suddenly starts bucking in earnest. In comparison to the earlier evening the contraptions movements are almost brutal, enough to cause whiplash to the unskilled or untrained.

And the Golden Cowgirl is all she can focus on as she watches the roll of skin tight jean clad hips moving with a fluidity that would put the aforementioned pole dancers to shame. The chunky belt buckle winking in the light as a taut stomach is shown in full display on the lean back as the woman moves in tandem with the buckling and rearing of the bronco. Sometimes she catches a wink of a yellow thong and hint of a pert backside as the bull rears up facing away from her and Yang rises to meet his challenge. He twists and dips, spinning faster in what would seem to be erratic arcs to the untrained eye, as he tries to dislodge this insolent rider who looks to tame him. For an instant Blake is almost jealous wishing to be the one under those languidly canting hips, knees either side of her head, watching that body roll from a worm's eye view. She bites hard into her bottom lip at the thought.

Around her the crowd is roaring and cheering in support of their contender as the music intensifies indicating that something she has no knowing of has occurred. Yang takes off her hat, swinging it over head in time with Billy's movements as he ducks and dips damn near vertical, swinging back round like he is trying to twist in mid-air.

For a brief moment, Yang's eyes lock with hers before she is spun round out of sight, Blake swallows, her fingers painfully squeezing the padding of the barrier underneath as the cowgirl seems to slip to one side. Billy rears up straight letting out a bellow before crashing back down with his rear in the air, his tail curling over his backside and banking a sharp right before a sudden spinning twist left and Yang loses her seat, crashing in to the mat.

The blonde scrambles to her feet and spins round to face the clock winking on the far wall. The screaming and cheering is enough to raise the very roof off its sturdy eaves and Blake realises that she is also screaming herself hoarse along with everyone else. Nora and Weiss are slapping the barrier like its a drum and Emerald cheering. Blake spies Pyrrha hands raised over her head, clapping in sportsmanship of a job well done. 

Over the mic, the MC yells enthusiastically, 

" 6.48 SECONDS!! .. Not quite her personal best, a damn good run nonetheless!"

She waves at the crowd before picking up her hat, dusting it off and mashing it on top of dishevelled curls as she makes her way back over to the group.

Reaching the girls, she takes a huge gulp of her beer. Blake can see a slight flush on the apples of her cheeks and her chest is rising and falling from the exterion . She climbs over the barrier looking for someone to steady her, which Blake is only happy to oblige, hands grasping round the cowgirl's waist who breathes, 

"I woulda lasted longer, but I got a lil distracted, if ya know what I mean?"

Blake finds herself filled with a quiver of delight at the admission and does not fail to notice the reassuring hand that remains pressed to her lower back.

Unlike Yang who seemed eager to step into the fray, the statuesque redhead takes her time, circling Billy and giving him a playful slap on the rump for the sake of the audience before leapfrog vaulting over his backside and sliding into position. Yang barks with laughter and yells, 

"Show off!" 

Pyrrha flips the bird in their general direction which garners a rambunctious laugh from the crowd. Emerald shouts, 

"Come on, Nikos... Bring the money home to Momma!"

An arm squeezes tighter round Blake's lower back, finger tips ghosting on the side of her hip as Yang asks with good natured teasing, 

"So you lot laid a bet down on us, eh? Kinda rude!" 

Sucking on her straw, Emerald shrugs with wink and Nora is about to reply, when her words are lost due to the bellowing of Billy and the music signalling that Pyrrha's rebuttal is about to commence.

It's much the same, the way Billy twists and bucks, the way Pyrrha's hips move in a similar action the difference being this time that Blake finds her self distracted by Yang's arm creeping up her back, pulling her in closer. Blake slides her own arm round a muscular back, her other hand resting lightly on stark white material of  
the vest top covering a firm stomach which sucks in from her touch at first before relaxing very slowly into it. The crowd is roaring and cheering as Billy lets out a loud bellow, no mind to Blake who is trying to exert some self control and not sink into how she wants this cowgirl in so many ways. She's drawn out of her imaginings by the sound of something landing on padding and the MC shouting, 

"And Nikos clinches it! 6.51 seconds! Close but no cigar, Xiao Long!"

At the sudden mention of her name, Yang raises her hands over her head returning Pyrrha's earlier fellow competitors applause.

With a wide grin, Pyrrha comes back, swinging her long legs over the barrier, sticking her hand out. There's a beat before Yang takes it and pulls her friend into a hug, the two of them rocking each other and congratulating each other on a job well done. Letting go of Yang, the Rodeo Star looks around for a drink, giving a nod when Blake hands her the spare.

"I really thought he had me on that last twist!" She takes a long draft, nearly clearing half of it, "I dunno about you, but I need to sit down!"

Bending down she picks up her boots , setting off barefoot across the sawdust floor and beckoning for the rest of them to follow. 

Rather than take off, the cowgirl catches Blake gently by the wrist almost softly spinning her round as if this is a waltz. She presses a little closer, thumb of her other hand stroking lazily back and forth on the material of her top, finger tips curling at her jeans and the journalist can feel the heat radiating from her. Lips tantalisingly close to her own but still a little too far away , remind her of their mutually agreed upon decision , 

"I'm going to the bar, what would you like to drink?"

Blake knows that this is the moment. How she answers will dictate how the rest of this evening plays out, that Yang is giving her an opportunity to state otherwise. 

The smell of Yang's perfume, mingling with freshly cut grass and lavender make a heady concoction that invades her senses and Blake briefly considers just stepping up and stealing a kiss to make her intentions clear, but she catches the whiff of sawdust, the bar and alcohol. It cuts into her haze making her self conscious and she comes to the realization that no, this isn't the right time or place, that she desperately wants this first to matter, to be remembered and no, she doesn't want their first kiss to taste of hops and aniseed, being ogled by a bar of drunken cowboys and ranch hands wolf whistling, making lewd the most precious of moments that can never be taken back once freely given. 

Phew, maybe the alcohol is getting to her and she needs a little distance to firmly screw back on her head, that is being so easily turned by this warm and admittedly gorgeous woman who is pulling her apart at the thread like an expert dressmaker. Instead, she ghosts her lips up a jawline, tracing it back to the hinge and purrs, 

"A coke, please."

Fingers at her hips squeeze in reply indicating that she has made the right choice. Yang's voice comes out thick, 

"Right.... A coke it is then?"

She is about to lead Blake after the group, when the journalist pulls back just a little, explaining, 

"I'll catch up" The blonde's eyebrows bunch together before Blake adds, "I need to go to the bathroom."

Yang nods, letting go of her wrist, 

"Alright... I'll be seein you back at the table, darlin?"

Blake watches for a few moments as tan cowboy hand atop golden curls disappears into the throng of people before spinning around and sprinting off in the direction of a winking arrow pointing towards a narrow hallway. Passing the walls full of photographs, she comes to two wooden doors, doing the dance that all patrons do when new to an establishment and they cant figure out which one is which even though in this day an age gendered bathrooms were slowly becoming a relic of the past and a sign of progress. She let out a snort at the two crude depictions of cowboys underneath a sign saying guys on one and dolls on the other. 

Pushing open the door, she is glad of the waft of cool air on her skin. As she looks at herself in one of the mirrors, she can hear the tell tale jangle of a belt buckle indicating that she isnt quite alone. Grabbing a paper towel, she runs it under the cold water of the the tap, checking her reflection. For the first time she notices that the sunburn she had on her once paler than snow shoulders has given way to a light brown with a tiny dusting of freckles, something she hasn't seen since she was a teenager back in Hawaii. The slight pink over the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks is becoming evident under the makeup that was perfectly suited for Spring in New York but not covering up skin after being under the Oklahoma sunshine.

Her long lashes are still holding the mascara and the wing tips at the corner of her eyes are still solid, as is the light purples of her carefully blended eyeshadow. The purple making the yellow flecks in her light brown eyes pop, giving them an almost golden appearance in this light. If she has to give herself credit, she doesn't look half bad, and if she was arrogant she would wholly believe the compliments of 'stunning' and many other words she has heard to describe her over the years. But confidence is a hard thing to hold onto when on the receiving end of a sour tongue intent on destroying the object of its attentions. Squeezing out the paper towel she dabs at her neck, as if trying to wash off the foul thought, until she is satisfied and she tosses the towel in the bin. 

Fluffing her jet black hair in the mirror her gaze lands on a wall mounted machine behind her, inviting her to remember that prevention is better than cure , something in case of an unexpected visitor and noone wants to be smelling of alcohol. Whirling round, she breathes into her hand, giving it a quick whiff before suddenly rooting through her pockets. There's a tinkle of a belt buckle closing, the push of a handle and the sliding of a lock. A woman who looks to be in her early 50's comes out and begins washing her hands in the sink beside her. Blake's fingers curl round the feel of a note and she fishes it out of her back pocket only to find as she unfolds it, it is far too big a currency for the machine. She curses under her breath catching the attention of the woman beside her, 

"You need change, doll?"

"Oh my god!" Blake replies as she pulls paper towels out of the dispenser, handing them to her unexpected guardian angel , "-Yes, please!"

"One sec,!" The woman dries her hands, tossing the paper towel before beginning to rummage through her purse, "Hoping to get lucky tonight?"

Blake gives a light laugh, 

"Something like that!"

As the woman is opening her wallet, she rakes her eyes up and down the journalist,

"I'd say some guy is gonna get very lucky, indeed!"

"Do I look ok?"

"Put it this way, doll, I wish I had looked like you at your age!"

As the woman begins to pull out crips clear dollar notes, Blake plucks one, and hands over the crumpled note, 

"It's ok, keep the change!" 

"It's far too much!" The older woman begins.

"No, it's ok!" Blake assures, "- Thank you... Really thankyou!" She waves the note, before sliding it into the slot and pressing the button to make her purchase, "-You're a lifesaver!"

With a rattle the purchase lands in the tiny drawer at the bottom giving a little flash that its ready to be opened. Blake fishes out a tiny pocket pack of menthol strips, popping one on her tongue as she waves goodbye and darts out of the door. Coming out of the bathroom is when something on the narrow entrance way wall catches her eye that makes her back up. A photo processed from film if the quality is anything to go by depicting four very familiar faces, much younger but very familiar nonetheless all dressed in their cowboy best.

There was Qrow, the local cop, the pride and arrogance of youth on his features, casually posing in grey and black with a shotgun against his shoulder, the pilot who looked just like Ruby at the tender age of 21, in white and red and a much younger Tai, in browns and yellows, looking carefree and smiling open mouthed, fingers casually through his belt loops and squinting against the sun, so different from the quiet, almost brooding man that she had met on occasion. But it was the fourth person, under a black Stetson, face half cast in shadow as she turned slightly away from the camera, fingering a lasso rope coiled at her hip that gave Blake pause for thought. 

It was like she was staring at Yang from another timeline, the only difference being that the woman in the photograph, clad in accents of red and black, had long dark curls cascading down her back and a haughty angle to her shoulders that could never be attributed to the warm golden Cowgirl. Leaning closer, she could just about make out in Harold’s distinctive chicken scratch along the bottom that almost threatened to be engulfed by the photo frame.

“Summer Rose, Qrow Branwen, Raven Branwen , Tai Yang Xiao Long, State Fair Wrangling Champions.”

Deep in thought, she weaves her way through the people until she spots Pyrrha sat alone at a table picking sawdust off her socks, watching the others a little aways on the dance floor. Taking a seat, Blake finds an ice cold coke and a glass waiting for her. The pair lapse into a comfortable silence taking steady but small sips from their bottles as they continue to observe Emerald and Weiss trying their best to teach Nora how to slap her knee and then heel in time to the music. It strikes Blake as all rather quaintly country and the small redhead is woefully terrible, missing her heel all together, or spinning off out of line. The journalist can imagine how much the waitress dislikes the rigidity of the formation, much preferring the freedom of movement. She’s proven right when Nora takes off shaking her ass and shooting finger guns at them.

Weiss, Emerald and Yang move in perfect sync, turning out heel to toe and all the other movements the city slicker would hazard to try name. The heiress spins and turns with a little more flair than her companions, causing Blake to comment,

“Weiss is surprisingly good!”

Pyrrha takes a small sip, nodding, 

“You wouldn’t think it, but she’s actually a quite a renowned dancer. Guess it has something to do with all those ballet classes her parents made her take down at that posh boarding school they forced her to go to.”

And that piece of information answers many a question that Blake has been harbouring but too afraid to ask, not wishing to pry or seem rude. Her gaze catches Yang’s who flashes her a smile, and the words are tumbling out of her mouth before she realises it, 

“Whose Raven Branwen?”

It almost seems that the utterance causes the jukebox to skip as the music suddenly changes, and a dark cloud passes over Pyrrha’s usually serene features as she visibly bristles, almost growling,

"How did you hear that name?"

"Nowhere, I swear.." Two bright green eyes in a small scowl skewer Blake to her seat, searching for the lie. She almost breaks out in sweat and she suddenly has no wish to be on the wrong side of this woman who she has no doubt wouldn't hesitate to break her in half. "- I swear.... I just saw a picture on the wall!"

Seemingly satisfied by the explanation, the Rodeo Star untenses a little but there’s a edge to her voice that Blake has never before heard. It’s both parts protective and yet a warning, 

“We don’t say her name around these parts.” She cryptically parts. Blake is about to ask why, when she’s suddenly cut off, “-It aint my story to tell, its Yang’s…. But I wouldn’t bring it up.. Let her do it, if she’s ever good and ready.”

Emerald flops into a nearby chair, reaching for her drink, 

"What you guys talking about?" 

Without missing a beat, Pyrrha begins pulling on her boots, as if the previous conversation hadn't occurred and Blake is left reeling at the speed of the change of it 

"I was just telling Blake how well she did. That we might make a cowgirl of her yet!"

The store clerks eyes pinch up at the sides as she regards the pair, if she picks up on the tension she certainly doesn't comment, instead she says, 

"I think we need to be getting them two home soon?" All three women glance at the dancefloor to watch Nora and Weiss, waltzing like a couple screaming with laughter as they near enough ping pong off other dancers whilst Yang is doing her best to be a buffer, apologising to anyone whose toes have been stabbed by a very sharp stiletto. Nora slips, landing on her knees pulling the heiress with her, only for Yang to catch her under the armpits. Emerald chuckles, "-Yep, we most definitely need to get them home!"

Pyrrha finishes pulling on her boots and checks her phone, 

"I already called Jaune. He's on his way."

As the would be dancers return to the table there comes snippets of conversation, as Weiss has an arm slung over Nora's shoulder, and the journalist can't help but wonder who is supporting who as the pair make their way unsteadily into the chairs, 

"Imma gonna tell that pastrie boy, Ren I am a catch!" She waves a finger at an imaginary person, "An Ill eat all the pancakes! God.. I'd love some pancakes right now!" 

Weiss leans on Nora, as Yang gives her a comforting pat on the back, rolling her eyes. 

"Nora... pssst Nora!" In what the heiress believes is a whisper but loud enough for everyone at the table to hear, "Do you know what I'm gonna do? Do you know?" She sits up, flopping back a little in her chair and it takes three attempts for her to cross one leg over the over. " Im gonna tell my father, Jacques... You are in fact" She hiccups, before repeating herself, "You, Jacques, are in fact.... An Asshole!" 

Nora screams with laughter ending up in a snort, as Emerald tries to shush the heiress. Yang breaks into a wide grin before picking up a coke bottle from the table and knocking it back in one. 

"Im serious!" Weiss continues trying to brush off the store clerk, "You're an Asshole and nobody likes you!" 

Coming to a decision, Pyrrha stands up, 

"Right, that's it!" Dusting sawdust of her jeans, she says, " - Get the pair of them to the door. I'll go get the jackets!"

It takes them far longer than it should to make it to the front door of the bar but once outside the clear fresh air hits them all and the two rather drunk trouble makers almost stagger. It takes Pyrrha two attempts to get Weiss arms into their respective holes and Nora simply refuses to put hers on like she is some bold child. It is as Blake is reassuring Weiss that her car is safe that two headlights come winking down the road at high speed before slowing down and a red fading to pink in places pick up truck that has seen better days pulls into the carpark beside them. Rolling down the window, Jaune's bright blond shaggy hair catches the carpark's light as he calls out, 

"You lot ok?"

Yang takes over babysitting duties as Pyrrha skips over to the pick up truck stroking the blonde shaggy hair out of his eyes and planting a long kiss on his lips. Nora yells, 

"Gowaaan, girrrl. Get it! Whooo hooo!"

At that Blake is suddenly glad that she made the right call in being patient and waiting. In a bid to give the couple some much needed privacy Emerald and Yang try to guide their respective charges to the back of the truck, whilst Blake brings up the rear, arms full of purses and Nora's jacket. Using the tyre as a booster, the cowgirl hops up into the back and dropping down the back flap. 

She reaches out for the waitress, who struggles at first to get a knee into the flatbed, as Emerald not unkindly boosts her under the ass, the unexpected force sending the small woman sprawling into the bottom of the truck in muffled fits of giggles. Weiss is surprisingly more graceful given her state of inebriation as she holds up her arms like a child wanting to be picked up and Yang leans down, hooking her hands under her armpits as the store clerk lifts her at the hips. As the cowgirl is trying to the get the pair settled, Emerald asks, 

"Hey city slicker, do want to get in front?"

"No it's ok.... I'll sit in the back. You have further to go!"

The store clerk shrugs, 

"Ok.. Suit yourself!" 

Blake dumps the purses and jacket into the flatbed and she is about to make her attempt when she looks up to find two lilac eyes watching her coupled with a warm megawatt smile and an outstretched offered hand. It's all very reminiscent of a summer's day and the offer to ride in the cabin of a tractor upon a strange yet enticing cowgirl's knee. 

"Need a lil help, darlin?"

Blake returns the grin, taking the strong hand, one she is beginning to learn to story of and desperately wishes to pour over every line and verse, 

"Don't mind if I do!"

As she is lifted up, she manages to hook one knee into the flatbed, using her free hand to push herself up until she is able to get the other one firmly on the metal. She shuffles forward on her knees as Yang closes the back flap with a bang, locking it in place. Nora and Weiss are propped up against the back of the cab, leaning on each other whispering and giggling having a conversation only understandable to themselves and drunks all over the world. The blonde slides over the metal, leaning against the side panel, as she pats the place beside her, 

"C'mere, darlin!" 

Blake crawls over on all fours only too happy to sink under the arm and snuggle in close to some much needed body heat. Yang bangs on the side of the truck. As the truck pulls off and Jaune eases it onto the road, she turns her head and whispers with an impish grin, 

"Hi ho silver... awaaay!"

This close, she can pick out a tiny whiff of alcohol on Yang's breath. Searching her back pocket, she finds the mints as the blonde watches her curiously. Pulling out two that stick to her finger tip, she holds it up, there comes miniscule confused flash before Yang leans forward and encases Blake's finger in hot wet heat, adding a flick of the tongue as she slowly sucks on it. Watching in fascination, Blake takes a breath through her nose as Yang releases her finger with a devilish smirk. 

From the back of the cab comes a garbled noise closely followed by the sound of liquid splashing on asphalt. Yang moves as fast as a striking rattlesnake, over the other side of the flatbed to grab Weiss by the back of the jacket as she leans over the side, letting out another stream of vomit. The waitress breaks into laughter, kicking her heels against the flatbed floor, shrieking into the night, 

"ha... mwaa haa , Weisss, Weisss,,, You just Schneee'd all over the road!"

The poor heiress sinks against the side panel, head on her arm, as Yang tries to wipe round her mouth her red neckerchief in an attempt to soothe her, 

"Think we overdid it a lil bit, eh Princess?"

Weiss clutches at the tan leather of the cowgirl's shoulder, 

"Jussst a lil car sick is all!"

For the rest of the ride, Yang remains with her arms round the small and frail looking heiress, stroking her hair and murmuring things just out of hearing. At one point, Blake is sure that she witnesses the blonde wipe away tears from her snow white cheek. Its as if Nora senses it, shuffling herself over the metal and wrapping herself around her friend from the otherside. It strikes Blake as a tender moment and it reminds her just how close this group, that seem to have accepted her with open arms, really are and for a split second she feels as if she is intruding until Yang looks up, giving her a warm smile. 

The truck begins to slow and Blake is surprised to find that they are already on The Thoroughfare fast approaching the General Store and there is no stopping the ripple of nervous excitement as she spots her front door under the lamp light. As the truck comes to a halt, engine idling, the cowgirl asks gently, 

"Are you guys gonna be ok?"

Weiss gives a sad little nod, fingers curling round the red neckerchief as Nora waves her way, 

"Go on..Its ok... I got her..." Nora pulls Weiss in close, "- We're gonna go have some of Ren's famous muffins and coco.. Right, Princess?"

"I'd like that."

Picking up Nora's jacket, Yang places it over Weiss shoulders, 

"See you both tomorrow?"

Both women nod. Satisfied, Yang vaults over the side, landing on the pavement and turns with outstretched arms , waiting. Blake casts the two girls a worried glance before sitting on the side of the truck and swinging her legs over the edge, guided to solid ground by strong firm hands. As the blonde moves to the front of the truck, the journalist asks, 

"Please will both of you text me tomorrow or later, and let me know you're ok?" The trucks engine revs and begins to slowly pull away from the curb, Blake waves, "Thank you for such a good night!" 

The backseat occupants wave back and Blake keeps waving until the truck takes a right hand turn and with a double honk of a horn, it's red rear lights disappear from view.  
Under the orange of the streetlamps, she is suddenly hyper aware that it is just the two of them. Hands in her jacket pockets, Yang ambles over the pavement and Blake begins rummaging through her purse for something, anything to do. There is a palpable but not uncomfortable silence between them, it almost fizzles and cracks. Wrapping her fingers round her keys, she moves towards her door with Yang almost as a shadow, 

"Do you think they will be ok?"

"They'll be fine, darlin.... They always are."

Yang takes her hands out her jacket pockets as they arrive at their destination. It's not like either of them haven't known since the request made beside the mechanical bull in Hoedown Loedowns where this night is heading but sometimes it pays to have a bit of fun with the pretense and draw out the charade. Blake stands at her front door, keys in hand, whilst Yang stands, supporting herself with one outstretched hand on the building's red brick wall, the other casually through her belt loop, a cock to her hip watching her through hooded eyes. She's so close Blake can feel the heat emanating from her. She swallows before uttering a sentence synonymous with a global brand made famous through a TV ad that aired before they were born.

"Would you like to come up for coffee? "

Yang turns her head to one side, finger skimming the brim of her hat, tipping it down every so slightly, casting her face in part shadow, and from her vantage point Blake can see a wide grin beginning to form. The cowgirl's voice comes out playfully flirtatious,

"Don't mind if I do, darlin."

And the journalist finds that she is suddenly a little nervous as her belly gives a tiny flip. She turns to the door and tries to calm herself as she attempts to put the key in the lock. Being it's a new place and she still hasn't worked out which key is for which door she fumbles a few times before she finally finds the one that works as there comes a tell tale click and the red lacquered wood swings in.

She crosses the small space past the door that would lead into 'Maggie's Clothing Emporium' grinning at the sound of the door closing behind her only to be caught unexpectedly by the sleeve of her jacket and spun around into a firm grip at her waist. She gasps a miniscule breath .The soft grin she's used to has become almost predatory as she is slowly backed up against the wall. Yang once more supports herself with one hand on the wall up over the left side of her head, whilst the cowgirl's right remains on her waist, thumb stroking lightly back and forth, burning through the material of Blake's top, two hooded eyes surrounded by thick lashes hungrily darting over her face before coming to rest on her lips.

There's a heady anticipation that sets Blake's skin ablaze as they inch closer together, noses millimeters from each other, their lips hovering so close their breath is intermingling. Blake curls her fingers into the lapels of a soft tan leather jacket. They both incline their heads opposite to each other in an unspoken communication as Blake leans up off the wall and Yang leans down, the pair meeting in the middle. It's soft, gentle filled with uncertainty and newness as top lips interlock with bottom, tasting of sugar and spearmint and butterscotch lip gloss, something that she knows she will now forever associate with this stranger she met on the side of the road who is fast becoming something else entirely new.

Yang pulls back but Blake wants, no needs, more, not willing to let this moment end. She wants to savour it, etch it into her memory. Her fingers creep up from lapels up over soft honeysuckle skin, feather light under a jawline, thumb grazing just behind an ear, fingertips curling forward in encouragement coaxing Yang to come back, who seems only happy to oblige. 

This time they meet with tongues, the odd nip and bump of teeth as they try to figure out each others rhythm, seeking the taste of each other. Blake's other hand snakes round Yang's waist wanting to feel her closer. She's almost frustrated, impatient when she thinks the cowgirl is being wholly too polite by remaining solidly steadfast. They pull back from each other to breath, kiss bruised lips not willing to be parted from their new playmates. Blake manages, voice husky and thick,

"Upstairs."

Yang replies with a silent nod.

Reluctantly slipping from out of Yang's grasp, Blake takes off up the stairs, adding a sway to her hips, aware that the cowgirl's eyes are on her. She tries not to rush but who is she kidding as she uses the bannister as a way to steady her weak legs.

At the door to her apartment she cant concentrate as every sense is hyper aware of women standing inches behind her. She again fumbles the key in the lock only for one arm to snake round her waist, the press of a body against her back as the other comes round to help guide her slightly trembling hand, steadying it so the infuriating piece of metal will do as its told. Soft lips press against the space inbetween her ear and hinge of her jaw turning into a knowing smirk against her skin.

"Finickity little thing, ain't it?"

Blake doesnt think she has ever heard the word 'finickity' spoken out loud before but she finds it endearingly charming, much like this woman that's invading her senses. The thought disappears as fast as it came as the door clicks open and they both fall into the room.

Once inside, Blake shrugs out of her jacket, hanging it on an oldie worldie coat rack in the corner behind the door and takes off her boots, placing them side by side in a wooden produce box, both left behind by it's previous occupant. Yang stands almost awkwardly in the centre of the sitting room come kitchen, hands in her jacket pockets casting her eyes round the wide airy space, orange lamp light from the street outside spilling in, through the window that overlooks The Thoroughfare, all over the floorboards.

There's an assortment of unpacked bags in the corner, something Blake hadn't got quite round to doing. Her laptop is open on the small dining table beside a tiny bare brick fireplace, a remnant of the old days, two old wooden well worn dining chairs either side, one stuffed with cushions for when Blake needed to work. On the far wall there's a medium sized comfortable looking couch. 

"I aint ever been in here before.... It's cosy."

Flipping on the kitchen lamp, bathing the room in warm mood lighting, Blake busies herself flicking on the kettle and taking down two mugs, 

"Yeah, it was Emerald's!

She runs the tap filling up a glass with its crisp clear liquid before sliding it onto the breakfast counter. Yang takes it, 

"How long you been here?"

Officially, since yesterday, unofficially a few weeks. Emerald was kind enough to let me crash on her couch once I decided to stay."

At that they both catch each other's eyes. And Blake suddenly remembers her room is a disaster having just tossed her stuff haphazardly about as she had hastily searched for some clean clothes to wear out on this very evening. As she heads down the hallway back into the depths of the apartment, she calls out, 

"I''ll be just a sec..... Make yourself at home."

Once behind the closed bedroom door, she begins dashing about grabbing clothes hastily stuffing them in bags before unceremoniously shoving them in the wardrobe. There's one or two left behind but they will have to remain where they are as the wardrobe doors already threaten to pop open with the strain. She straightens her claret duvet, throwing thanks to whoever that she had the foresight to put on the newly purchased bedsheets the night before.

Plugging in the bedside lamp, she positions it so the glare will bounce off the wall and bathe the place in a warm glow. She's never been one for bright lights much preferring the atmosphere of shadows. As she's bending down to pull out the trapped charger cable her eyes alight on a large oversized dress shirt that used to belong to her father and something she oft took to sleeping in and an idea strikes her.

If she wants this night to continue in the way that she hopes, what harm could it do to make her intention unequivocally known?

Hurriedly, she strips down to her underwear and slips into the shirt leaving it unbuttoned. Checking her reflection in the mirror, she gives herself a dorky thumbs up, before setting her hair to rights. Back at door, she casts a critical eye round the room, before taking a steady breath giving herself a small confidence boost,

You've got this Belladonna.....She turns the handle and sets off with a shyshay down the hallway....Here goes nothing.

Coming back into the sitting room/kitchen she notices that the cowgirl's jacket hangs beside her own and worn brown cowboy boots are beside hers in the box and she cant stop how her heart flutters slightly at the sight. Yang is sat on one of the wooden dining chairs, those infuriatingly hot jeans pulled tight other thighs as she manspreads, seemingly engrossed, flipping the pages of Blake's well worn copy of Ninjas of Love on the dining table. 

Blake positions herself, mimicking Yang's stance from earlier, one hand on the wall to brace herself angling her body diagonally away from it with her other at her hip, whipping the shirt back behind her. She coughs, giving a toss of her head and flashing what she hopes is a sexy smirk.

At the sound, Yang looks up, lilac eyes widen and mouth slightly opens, and Blake cant help the shiver of delight that runs through her at the reaction. They gaze at each other for a beat, Yang's legs closing and her hand drifting from the table back to her thigh and Blake catches how it grips the material. At that, she steels her confidence, making her approach, sheyshaying across the small space.

Legs either side of side of the cowgirl's she lowers herself laboriously down, lightly grazing her lower underwear down along Yang's torso, hovering so she's not quite on the cowgirl's lap. Slightly calloused hands drift lightly up her thighs, as Blake presses further against her, one hand at a the side of a throat she can feel is bobbing, the other firmly yet gently grasping at a jaw. Looking down into blown wide eyes, Blake lightly draws her thumb underneath a moist and full plump lip, grazing the edge with her nail that causes eyelashes to flutter closed. 

She grins as she carefully tips back Yang's head, far enough to cause the cowboy hat to fall off with a soft puft forgotten on the floor, but not too far as to cause her any pain. She draws down the silken lip further before ducking her head and claiming her much sought after and long awaited prize.

Yang seemingly allows her to take the lead as their tongues slip together in a dance. It's not a competition but a mutual thing as they press closer playing with each other.

One strong arm comes to cup Blake under the ass and other round her back, encasing her ribcage crossways. Blake pushes down into the kiss as Yang leans up ever so slightly off the back of the chair. It's becoming almost sloppy, erratic as Blake's thighs begin to quake from the strain of their position mingled in with a fast approaching loss of function as she slightly grinds forward seeking out some much needed friction. 

It's as if Yang senses that they are both close to following through right there on the sitting room's hardwood floor. She pulls back as Blake lets out almost a desperate whimper from loss of the warm contact. In this room that's beginning to take on a very distinctive musk, Yang asks, her voice almost shaky,

"Where to?"

"The horizon," Blake rolls the word off her tongue, finding she likes the sound of it, "Darling!"

If the instruction is cheesy Yang certainly doesn't comment, instead she lifts up Blake as she stands causing the journalist to squeak against lips before catching them in yet another kiss.

She carries her through the apartment, Blake having to duck her head so as not to hit it off the top of the bedroom door jam before gently laying her down on the bed. The cowgirl stands back for a few moments as if admiring the view as Blake slides herself to the edge of the mattress. Yang leans down, stroking dark hair behind an ear, before searching again for Blake's over eager kisses. Her hands fly to Yang's shirt, trying to get it off over shoulders.

She stands up to shrug out of it as Blake's hands fly to the chunky belt buckle holding up those jeans that are barricading her from something she is certain she has wanted the moment this cowgirl stepped down from the tractor on the side of a dusty road on a scorching hot Oklahoma summers day. Her fingers struggle with this weird contraption. She looks up, 

"Finickity thing, isnt it?"

Yang looks down with a teasing grin, 

"Bothersome!"

They both break out into laughter. Cockily canting her hips forward a little as fingers trail teasingly over the belt, Blake can only watch in fascination as they make light work of the buckle, it opening with a pop, making it look far easier than the journalist ever expected. 

Yang stands back and Blake watches with hungry appreciation as she takes her time, sliding the jeans over her ass, revealing a bright yellow thong, and down firm lean muscular thighs. She struggles a little as they catch at her ankles and she takes to doing the weird one foot on pants leg dance that every girl who has ever worn tight skinny fit jeans knows only too well. The New Yorker giggles at Yang's momentary loss of smoothness that she tries to cover up with a flick of her hair before focusing back on Blake and asking, 

"Right so, where were we?".

Taking in the sight, Blake replies, 

"You really do like yellow, don't you?"

Yang cast a gaze round the room, with a quirk of an eyebrow,

"Kinda like you an purple?"

Blake grins, 

"Touche!"

The cowgirl gives a tip forward of her chin and Blake instinctively knows its instruction. Sliding back on bedsheets she watches as Yang begins to crawl on her hands slowly up the bed, her shoulder blades moving like a panther stalking forward, curving her spine down affording Blake the view of the apple dip of her ass. It takes the air from her lungs and her mouth goes dry as those predatory dark eyes never leave hers.

With one finger Yang painfully slowly draws down one strap of Blake's bra, allowing her nail to graze the skin underneath, before copying the action on the other side. Blake leans up on her elbows, surrounded by a halo of gold as Yang slips one hand round her back searching for the clasp. Soft lips suck at her neck, and the journalist is about to offer to help when there comes a little twist and the material falls away.

"Jesus Christ." She breathes. "Had a lot of practise?"

It's not an accusation or an assumption but rather in awe. She feels a wicked smirk against her flesh, 

"I always practise."

And teeth lightly graze at her throat, causing Blake to let out a pleasurable hiss before it is once more engulfed in hot open mouthed kisses alternating between licking and sucking. She pulls back, propping herself up on her hands, knees nudging the outside of Blake's thighs hovering inches from her lips. She breaths against them, and Blake catches another whiff of butterscotch,

"Think we could be takin off that shirt now?"

Blake whispers, 

"Only if I can take off that vest top?"

She sits back on her knees at the request and Blake in her haste to get at what's underneath slides her hands under the material, up a toned stomach that flutters at her touch, riding up and tugging it over the blonde's head. It must catch on something as the flimsy strap snaps with a twang. Blake pauses for a second but is met with a shrug before the cowgirl finishes taking it off, flinging it forgotten somewhere in the room, to reveal two scoops of honey ice cream perfectly encased, if a little straining against, silky yellow material. Blake has the sudden urge to find out what they taste like, wishing to lathe her tongue against the soft skin. She goes as if to move only to be stopped by a gentle hand at her breast bone, 

"You're turn!"

It's not a demand but a soft request. 

Blake shrugs out of the shirts and then the rest of her bra casually discarding them off the side of the bed. And this time it's Yang who licks her lips, eyes raking up and down the journalist led there, barely able to control rubbing her legs together as eyes linger on the little V shaped lace in between her thighs. And Blake cant help but tease, a return to their wordplay. She quirks an eyebrow,

"Hungry?"

Yang takes a beat before crawling back up the bed and sinking her lips to a delicate collarbone, 

"Famished."

Fingers skim up along her rib cage as a hot warm wet mouth is devouring her. At her collarbone, her neck, long her jawline, Blake is only too willing to accept what almost feels like worship inclining her head to allow the blonde access to more skin. She arches up into every caress, her eyes fluttering closed, her words failing her. Her head is full of every sensation as fingertips find almost painfully prickled nipples that are crying out for attention. She turns catching Yang's mouth in a kiss, nipping at her bottom lip, as her hands try to earth her to the moment grasping at anything she can. Yang sucks on her tongue and Blake moans in response, so loud she can feel it vibrating between them.

One hand is playing at her breast, teasing her nipple, the other lost in her hair as Yang sinks down on the bed beside her and Blake wraps an arm around her shoulders in encouragement. Blake almost tenses when the hand suddenly leaves her nipple and she lets out a keening whine, but not to be staved the fingers continue at a snail's pace down her stomach, further still, hovering over now slick material thats sticking in places. Blake whimpers, 

"I .... I need.... I.."

Yang nips at her ear lobe, breathing against her conch, something that Blake has always had a weakness for, the action goosebumping her skin, and she husks, 

"What do you need, darlin?"

Its part playful and teasing but also a question of permission.

Blake stutters, and she doesn't care that its cheesy or that the tone to her voice makes her sound simply wanton, 

"I need .... you..!"

There comes the reply as fingers dip tantalisingly inside lace knickers, slowly over Blake's trimmed curls down further still. She opens her legs and she hears Yang breath a low curse in her ear as fingertips meet the wet space. It's as if they are basking in the moment, drinking it all in before they dip further, the feeling of much wanted, much anticipated fingers sending a spark up Blake's spine and she gasps into the room, 

"Yes!"

Sinking into her laboriously digit by digit, one closely followed by two, she feels them being to flutter, slowly drawing in and out. Blake gathers Yang's much loved but right now annoying hair out of her face. She needs to drink in this other woman's expression, commit it to memory, as this is like nothing else she's felt before. Forehead resting against forehead, breathing in each others oxygen, each others essence, there's a look of such soft tender affection on the cowgirl's face, Blake nearly wants to cry out, her heart is fit to bursting with it.

The gentleness of it all nearly becomes too much to bare. This is nothing like she ever had with Adam, even back at the start, she briefly thinks before slamming that door firmly shut with the intention to never allow that nightmare to ever sully this waking dream.

Her fingers are working a little faster, twisting ever so slightly this way and that, in a sensation Blake is wholly unfamiliar with but willingly accepts letting out a little moan in gratitude to any gods that might be passing overhead. She almost keens at the loss of contact as the cowgirl awkwardly shifts to propping herself up on one hand before lowering her mouth back down to Blake's searing skin, slick with a slight sheen of perspiration.

A hot mouth encases her nipple and Blake arches up to meet it as it gently sucks and tugs, teeth grazing at it perks up loving every tiny attention. And still the mouth moves lower, sometimes it's fleeting, other times down right ravishing as if Blake is giving much hungered for nourishment. Yang slowly slides down the bed before standing up on her knees and removing her fingers entirely, slowly so as not to hurt, and Blake instantly calls out at their absence. She's pulsing and her insides are begging for the return of their new companions

"Hush darlin...."I need to get rid of the damn things. " Comes the gentle but knowing reassurance, and sticky fingers curl round the strap of lace at her hips.."Is this ok?"

The cowgirl waits for the swift nod, before slowly sliding them down over creamy thighs, closing together and a lift of an ankle in anyway to help them be removed quicker. She notices how Yang pauses for a brief moment as the journalist squirms with overstimulation of every synapse coursing with an electricity. Trying to claw back some semblance of the upper hand, regain some control over how this women has reduced her to a mewling mess in less than ten minutes, she slowly an tantalisingly opens her legs, like she is a burlesque dancer and Yang is her favourite caller coming in for a peep show. She coyly purrs, 

"Like what you see?"

She closes her legs mischievously, watching the brief flicker of disappointment, before opening her legs again and witnessing the fire come back to lilac eyes that never leave her. She can tell Yang knows she's toying with her, as firm fingers tickle up the inside of pale thighs and she moves forward, 

"Every last bit of it."

Blake sucks in her lips, trying to swallow an embarrassed smirk. Suddenly there's a firm grasp on each leg from underneath, a brief second before she's yanked down the bed, causing her to let out a mirthful shriek. And Yang is on her knees, Blake's legs over her shoulders, her mouth setting a blazing path up towards the place that the journalist needs her most. She catches a wicked smirk before the golden head ducks and she begins to leave soft kisses around Blake's trimmed curls almost as a sweet torturous punishment for her bratty behaviour

She almost gets lost on how the tickle of Yang's hair feels upon her torso until two fingers begin to seek out their previous nesting place. Blake catches two dancing lilac eyes before her head sinks back into the bed as she feels a wet wicked tongue flicker out and a hum of appreciation as it begins to take its time meandering towards its destination. Her mouth opens and shuts like a goldfish as she's trying to suck in air, her throat bobbing as her eyes roll back in her head and she lets out a prayer at the sweet sensation, 

"Oh, God!"

She is sure she feels a smirk but she is too far gone to care, her hands seeking out anything to ground her. They flail uselessly at the material of the bedsheet looking for anything to grasp as Yang slips in a third finger, working in tandem with her tongue as it laps at everything Blake has to offer. She's lost in the sensation and when a silken muscle flickers across one place in particular that causes the journalist to see stars and wriggle on the bed, a strong hand lays flat on her lower stomach, trapping her there, an insistence not to move. At that Blake buries her fingers in spun gold in an attempt to keep this devastating women exactly where she is.

She's not thrusting, just gently curling her fingers, like shes plucking at strings and Blake is the instrument from which she's coaxing a song"

She breaks out in a fever and suddenly her apartment is hotter than the sun in the middle of July. 

Her hands buried in soft blond curls, she's repeating a mantra in her head only to realise that the call to any thing that is holy is spilling from her, echoing off the walls. 

Her tongue doesn't stop and her fingers don't slow, and Blake is suddenly full to the brim with this golden cowgirl. Full of the light that she's been drawn to since day one. And as her back bows, thighs clench and fingers hold onto spun gold, one cry, wrenched from deep inside, tumbles from her lips, loud enough for the world to hear.

"Yang!"

Yet Yang continues to lick and suck, fingers curling but slowing as Blake spasms around her loving every second, milking it for what it's worth. She lets out a shaky breath as her legs both flop open, a hazy thought drifting through her mind that the poor woman between her thighs is firmly clamped there with no escape. She lets out a little laugh as the tension in her muscles is replaced with a lightness.

"Wow... phewww." She dusts Yang's shoulder with a tap, "You are wholly too good at that!"

The cowgirl stands up flashing her a shit eating grin, the light catching Blake's essence glistening on her chin. Yang wipes at it and the journalist finds she's a little disappointed taking a wicked pleasure of the thought of her being painted all over the cowgirl's cocky face. 

"Come here!" She beckons with a little pout, "You're too far away... but first I want the rest of your clothes on my bedroom floor, where they belong."

There's the hint of shock at Blake's assertiveness before Yang is rushing out of them and scrambling back up the mattress. 

Once again their mouths find each other as the blonde lowers herself down. Blake's hands almost paw at her back loving how strong muscles ripple beneath her palms. She can taste herself on Yang's tongue and presses in further seeking more of this new intermingling aroma that excites her taste buds. She slides a thigh up in between Yang's and the wetness she feels against her skin insenses her. Suddenly she needs to know what she will discover there, to hear Yang moan her name. Beneath the cowgirl's lithe body she begins to shimmy down the bed sheets only for a gentle finger to tuck hair behind her ear and a soft voice thick with something Blake can't quite place,

"You don't have to do that, darlin."

Blake murmurs against the skin of Yang's breasts in between kisses and light licks, 

"But I want to..."

Fingers under her chin tip her head up slightly, 

"Much prefer to see your face."

There's a wistful, almost melancholic quality to it, that gives the journalist pause. Rather than press, she gives a small nod, reaching back up to give a reassuring kiss.

"Ok."

She wraps herself around this woman who has done nothing but give so freely since the very first day they met.

Yang slips an arm in the space between the New Yorker's neck and pillow, who wriggles up until she's able to plant kisses along all over the slightly rising and falling breast bone, one hand trailing up over the softness of skin, skirting over the bumps surrounding one erect pink nipple. There comes a small in take of air as they breeze over the nub, giving it an ever so gentle squeeze which makes the cowgirl clamp her bottom lip in between teeth so hard Blake can see the flesh turn almost white. She murmurs wickedly, 

"You like that?- " There comes a quiet nod that shakes golden curls. "Would you like my mouth on them?- " There is no reply, only the squeezing shut of eyes. She squeezes a little harder adding a slight twist, just enough to remain bordering on pleasurable and gain the attention she seeks. She says daringly, "-Answer me, Yang! -"

Eyes flutter open a hint and the legs around her thigh squeeze together, 

"Yang, use your words"

A begging utterance escapes the blonde's lips, wholly surprising the journalist at it's meekness,

"Please!

Never taking her eyes off the cowgirl's face, she gathers up one of her breasts in her hand, palming it, not too roughly, just enough, until she can roll the nipple between her finger and thumb enjoying the myriad of expressions that flutter across her face before lowing her mouth and giving it an experimental lick. She is greeted with a miniscule gasp. She encases it in her mouth, delighted how a hand flys to the back of her head and way wetness begins to spread over her thigh as Yang instinctively cants her hips back and forth. She is like a starving pauper with an offer of a gourmet meal, unable to control herself as she nibbles and sucks, trailing her supportive hand down along a quivering stomach, aware as the bicep tenses beneath her indicating that Yang's arm in uncontrollably curling in on itself.

If Yang is her plaything then Blake is a cruel Mistress as she pulls back slowly allowing the nipple to drift across her tongue, grazing it lightly with teeth before letting it go, admiring how it glistens. Drifting her fingers in swirls against skin she lazily dances further down, enjoying every hitch of breath as she takes them lower only to bring them back up. And this time it is the cowgirl who whimpers. Echoing back an earlier sentiment, 

"Tell me what you want, Yang!"

Gone is the cheeky teasing smirk, seemingly always so cock sure, instead it's replaced with a vulnerability that almost makes Blake feel guilty.

"I want.."

Fingers tip tap down along the outside of a thigh before sweeping back up on the inside as lips skitter dangerously close to the now drying nipple,

"Yeaaah...?"

It comes out shy, almost bashful, barely on the cusp of hearing, 

"Fuck me."

Fingers trail up to hover over soft curls and there's an impatient bump forward, but Blake is having far too much fun with this new found power to reply, wishing to draw it out.

"How would you like me to fuck you?"

Two eyes open, a wildness to them that makes Blake think for a second that she might have pushed things a little too far as the blonde quietly growls,

"With your fingers."

"Would you like my fingers inside, babygirl?"

The pet name slips from her mouth before she has even registered it.

"Fuck!-" Yang whines, "- please... yes ...please!"

And at that desperate plea Blake cant find it in herself to torture her anymore or hold back from the pleasure she herself so desperately wants to give this woman. Cupping her fingers round, she dips them feeling just how much wetness has collected there, following it back to its source. They slip between silken lips up into what she can only describe as a furnace.

Yang's hand clamped round her head turns her face up, crashing their lips together as Blake begins to move her fingers, thrusting in and out slowly. She's surprised at how tight the cowgirl is, muscles almost vice like, pulsing and fluttering as she tries to replicate what Yang had done only moments before. The other arm under her neck maneuvers to splay across Blake's back drawing her as close to Yang as possible, as she rocks her hips up and down to meet Blake's every thrust. The journalist uses her thigh as a way of support to help keep her position. the rocking no longer conducive to being joined at the lip. Instead she's held in place, purple eyes locking onto her, briefly disappearing from view behind eyelids.

Forehead to forehead, Blake tries to drink it in. Sun dapples across cheeks fading into the tinge of red from exertion. She remembers a girl back in New York before Adam and flicks out her thumb, searching for a telltale nub, inwardly pleased when she hears the cowgirl let out at tiny hiss at the contact before she grinds down harder. There is so much to concentrate on but she is fascinated by this woman who is working herself into frenzy rocking on Blake's fingers and grinding against her thumb. Blake tries to concentrate on the placement of her fingers, giving the ones encased in liquid heat an experimental curl and she is met with a barely audible breathed, 

"Fuck!"

Yang's rocking becomes faster and faster, almost erratic. Her chest is heaving and there are tiny little whimpers escaping that sound like music to Blake's ears. Its like watching a renaissance sculpture come to life as Yang suddenly clasps her close, lips mashed to her forehead as shes riding whatever trail at high speed, headlong to some release. She clamps tightly round Blake like shes a life preserver and for a flicker of a second the journalist is sure her slender wrist is going to snap at this angle, and goodbye to her writing career, but she couldn't care less as she is rewarded with Yang coming undone with a sobbing cry.

Slowly her grip on the smaller woman fades and her canting hips begin to slow. Her eyes flutter open and it almost seems to Blake like she has a dreamy goofy grin on her face. She leans down to plant sloppy kisses against Blake's lips in between sucking in huge lungs full of air.

"Fuck me.. Darlin!"

Blake slowly removes her fingers and tries to shake the feeling back into her wrist, 

"I think I just did!"

And for once the cheeky cowgirl doesn't rise to the challenge, instead struggling to grasp the end of the duvet to cover them both over as the air threatens to cool the sweat on their skin and give them the shivers. She flops back against the mattress in what only Blake can fathom must be exhaustion. Suddenly, she lets out giddy giggles. 

"What?" Blake asks, thinking that she has committed some faux paux.

The blonde enunciates every word,

"You are a FIESTY one!..... Who woulda thought? ......" She grins dopily, "Babygirl???"

Blake snuggles up against her, burying her face with a sickle of embarrassment. 

"I'm sorry...... It just slipped out!... In the moment."

She peered up to find eyes crinkled at the corners in mirth, Yang's voice beginning to slip on drowsy mumbles,

"No worries..... It a first..... Kinda liked it.... is a bit kinky!"

Right in front of her eyes, Yang is fading. She leans backwards, hand searching for the light switch, giving it a soft click and the room is bathed in darkness. And for the first time in over three years, Blake isn't afraid to sleep with the bedroom door open or without a night light, instead she shuffles closer to this furnace who smells so delicious, drifting off to the steady breathing of another, wrapped in strong arms.


	3. Chapter 3

.  
.  
Blake awoke, face squashed into the mattress, blinking at the shaft of light winking through the side of the curtains shining right on her face. For a moment she's disorientated in this wholly unfamiliar room, beginning to startle until the memories of the previous evening play in quick succession, causing her to wriggle her spine and her hips, no doubt if she had a tail it would be curling at the end at this point, and let out a luxurious hum.

Beside her the bed dips as her companion shuffles closer, a nose burying in her hair, nuzzling lazily, a thick husky voice says,

"Mornin, sleepyhead."

It's the first time the cowgirl has referred to her as anything other than 'Darlin', and as much as she has grown to love and adore the everyday pet name, it's this that makes her tummy flip flop, like a thousand butterflies attempting to take flight. Curling fingers round the edge of the duvet, she obscures the lower half of her face in a bid to hide the cheshire cat grin that has erupted. Its like someone has got screws pulling up the corners of her lips, it's so wide it almost hurts. She rolls over a little on her side , peering shyly up at her companion over the top of the claret material, to find Yang propped up on one elbow, hair a little more of an unruly mess than usual but bright eyed.

She knows full well her own face is puffy from sleep, her eyelashes are gummy, and she more than likely has a pillow crease etched into her cheek somewhere. Of course the cowgirl would look country fresh first thing in the morning. 

"Hey.." she mumbles as her voice comes out groggy, scratching across dry and unused vocal cords. She gives a little cough, "-What time is it?"

Yang scans the room, with its half unpacked bags contents threatening to spill on the floor before focusing on the window, narrowing her eyes for a minuscule moment in concentration before confidently announcing, 

"A lil after 9 by my reckonin."

"You didnt even look at your phone,- "Blake exclaims, 

"I don't need to!"

"How could you possibly know that?"

Yang gives her a one shouldered shrug, 

"I just do." She pauses, lilac eyes dancing, "- It's magic."

Blake replies by narrowing her eyes with a sickle of suspicion, trying to catch where the trick is, the slight of hand, before rolling back over and stretching one hand to where her phone is on the bedside cabinet, causing the duvet to ride down to the lower part of her back. Her fingers barely grasp it, but enough to turn up the corner and sure as shit '9:08am' is winking back at her like some sort of insult. Flopping face first back in to the matress she groans, 

"Who in their right mind gets up this early on their day off?"

Behind her, the bed dips and there's a rustle of bedsheets as Yang moves closer still, feather light fingers touch a place on Blake's shoulder blade that causes her to freeze, her playful inquiry momentarily forgotten, replaced with a sense of dread. Pads of fingers ghost over every raised welt, every puckered scar, every nick. Some silver with age, some red and wieldy which a doctor once told her might never fade. Yet Yang doesnt inquire, as if she notices the uncontrollable miniscule flinch at each touch, the slight tension in her shoulders and already knows the story mapped out there. 

Instead soft, gentle lips pressed against the remnants of a life left behind in NY, a vastly different story from what has been playing out in this sleepy backwater town. And Blake is so grateful, when the words that drift up from behind her, vibrating against her skin, arent a question but a reply, 

"Some might say that half the day be over already!"

And Blake remembers their completely different worlds.

"Oy my god!" She exclaims, "How long have you been awake?"

Lips work their way back up, and an arm slips round her waist, and Blake leans back into the lithe yet feminine body, loving the way the cowgirl's golden, naked skin feels soft against her own, almost like a soothing caress. 

"A while.... " She moulds herself round the smaller women, body pressed against her back, as fingers on her tummy tickle tantalisingly lower and teeth lightly graze Blake's neck before being surrounded by hot wet lips, gently sucking to soothe the nip.. "But I dont mind.... I was enjoying the view."

Blake smirks to herself at that, fingertips trailing down towards their destination she lifts her pelvis a tiny fraction to accommodate them on their journey only to find that they have taken a sudden detour, the scenic route, as they trail over her hip, down the upper thigh and are now cupping the mountain pass that is up long under her ass cheek down into the valley of in between her thighs. Its as if they take a moment to take in the glorious surroundings , seeking permission to enter, Blake only too eager to grant such a request, before beginning once again on their journey.

Hot open mouth kisses are left in a trail across once snowy shoulders, almost hungry in their quality in comparison to the night before. And Blake literally rises in answer to the call, wanting to give nourishment, rising on her elbows. When fingers find their target, much like the a key in a lock, Blake tips her head forward letting out a whimper.

Yang's other arm slips under Blake's slightly raised front, strong forearm flat a against her torso, a slightly calloused yet gentle fingers brushing against the journalist's sensitive nipples causing her to cry out. The cowgirl pulls her back on to her side, sliding her thigh in between her legs to lend her wrist support. Blake lets out another whimper, wrapped in these safe comforting arms, as Yang begins to move with ernest. She flails with an arm looking for something to grip, to steady herself, something, anything to ground her she's surrounded by a garden of blissful ecstasy. Her hand finds the headboard, bracing herself to meet every movement from Yang. She lets out a loud gasp, and she can feel in between the ravishing kisses, 

"Is this ok, darlin?"

And this time it's not a joke, or good natured teasing but a check in made out of care and concern. Blake gasps,

"Fuck, Yes!"

It's a crude reply for such a sweet intentioned question but it is all she can manage in this heady moment.

The cowgirl's fingers at her breasts are becoming erratic, and suddenly Yang slows the rocking of her thigh, before removing her fingers entirely , causing Blake to let out a keening whine. A husky demand that is not up for discussion drifts to her ears, 

"Roll over"

Eagerly she does as she's told. No sooner is she on her side, fingers immediately seek out their previous warmth supported by a strong muscular yet lean thigh and begin to move. A firm hand supporting up the column of her spine, pressed close to Yang. This close Blake can see there is an almost feral look in the wide blown eyes, no longer able to pick out the ring of purple. Blake braces herself against the headboard as a hot pink tongue flickers out brushing against her dusky nipple. Her other hand flies to the back of gold spun hair in support and encouragement. 

There's a gasp for air, or rather the lack thereof as Blake's eyes flutter closed and her throat bobs, no sound escaping as she sinks into the blissful sensation of Yang's mouth.

Yang's fingers continue to curl and thrust into her, her other hand curls at Blake's back, the tiny pleasurable sting of crescent moons digging, not unnicely into flesh. A mouth that seems to be devouring her, licking and sucking and grazing lightly. 

It's like Yang is picking her apart from the inside and she is relentless. This time there's no cries to any diety that will listen but out right curses to the heavens themselves. Sometimes they stick in her throat, sometimes clear, desperate keening pleas echo back off the walls and she doesn't give two shits that there is an old ladies clothing store right underneath her room thats hella busy on a friday morning, if anything she screams louder.

"Fuck!"

Her screams turn into a chant coming faster and louder 

In that moment she would give this breathtaking woman anything she wanted, would do anything she asked. She curls tight round Yang, her abs going rigid quaking under the strain. It's like a garden in full bloom suddenly exploding in colour, one hand firmly supporting the back of Yang's skull willing her to continue as her thighs clamp round a muscular leg and she continues to rock with a momentum she cant control.

Her chest is heaving and shes covered in a light sheen of sweat as she slowly rides out the waves of pleasure that are coursing all over her body, from the very tips of her toes to the ends of her fingers. Her legs are liquified and she can no longer support herself as the rigidity leaves her muscles and she collapses bonelessly against the object of her slowly burgeoning affections. 

She loses Yang's strong arm of support at her back, which allows her to flop back on the mattress, one arm flung over her face as she tries to get her breathing back to rights. Her brain is nothing but mush, neurons misfiring, unable to pick up the sensation from her lower half, her legs useless. 

Sensing movements beside her, she removes her arm and her eyes flutter open. 

She watches in rapt attention as Yang slowly and very deliberately sucks on slick wet fingers, letting out a small hum of appreciation, like shes is just casually licking a much needed ice cream on a blistering hot summers day. The cowgirl leans down, with a sultry purr to her voice, 

"I love the way you taste."

Not to be left in the dust, Blake pulls her down , kissing her, allowing her tongue to slips over the other woman's. She can taste herself and mingling in with the taste of Yang's mouth, it isn't wholly unpleasant. She pulls back, mischievously adding,

"So do I!"

Yang takes a breath in through her nose, just millimeters away from the journalist's, placing a hand on a pale taunt torso still rising as falling, in a bid to support herself before letting out a shaky,

"Fuck, babe! That was hot!"

As Blake leans up to catch Yang in another lazy kiss her stomach, like a small child walking in on its parents, lets out a loud gurgle that even Harold with his hearing aids could hear. Both women freeze for a beat, attached at the lips, Blake's eyes wide as Yang's slowly crinkles at the corners in mirth. Her uncontrollable laugh, bursts forth, coming out against Blake's lips like a blown raspberry before she pulls away completely and lets it out in all its glory.

Blake's belly lets out another obnoxious gurgle as if throwing a temper tantrum at being mocked rather than being taken seriously. She squeals, grabbing a pillow, rolling over and hiding her face, as besides her the cowgirl continues to revel in the moment. Curled on her side, she lets out a small yelp as Yang slaps her on the rump, the thwack echoing off the walls. 

"C'mon, Darlin! Sounds like we needs to be gettin some grub into you!"

Blake rolls over, beginning to pout from under the pillow.

"But..but .. What about.."

"No ifs or.." She lightly pokes Blake on the ass cheek, for comedic effect" Butts.."

The journalist lets out a groan at the awful pun, yet still refuses to move. Yang stands up, reaching up to the sky affording Blake a full view of her body that would call sculptures from around the world to her door begging to etch her likeness into the most quality of marble and granite. Her eyes filter down from her full pert breasts, to chiseled stomach gained from long hours of hard labour, to the V of her hips guiding the ear down to a thatch of soft blond curls. 

And her mouth waters.

Yang catches her gaze and flashes her a smile, she sways her hips as she rounds the end of the bed, caught in a shaft of light winking in between a gap in the curtains that shimmers off her hair and her skin, putting Blake in mind of a greek goddess returned but right now she couldn't tell you which one.

Yang catches her gaze and flashes her a smile, she sways her hips as she rounds the end of the bed, caught in a shaft of light winking in between a gap in the curtains that shimmers off her hair and her skin, putting Blake in mind of a greek goddess returned but right now she couldn't tell you which one. 

The cowgirl leans down with a wicked look on her face, her breasts tipping forward and all Blake can think of how she would love to taste them, much in the way that Yang had tasted hers only moments before. And she wonders how her name would sound being called out in pleasure in that accent that never fails to send a tingle down her smile. Yang wraps gentle but firm fingers around her ankles, and she thinks she just might get her wish, when she is suddenly pulled down the bed towards her, causing her to shriek in delight and breaks into giggles.

"You need food."

From her vantage point on the edge of the bed, Yang towers over her and Blake finds herself at the perfect height. Sliding hands up the back of Yang's thighs to cup her ass, she tugs her forward. 

"I have what I want to eat right here!"

She leaves soft butterfly kisses in a trail down the divets of the washboard stomach, taking her time down the hip bone giving it a little nip, that caused Yang to take an audible gasp. Through fluttering eyelashes, Blake watched the cowgirl, with head bowed bit her bottom lip. She kept eye contact as she kissed around the small thatch of blonde curls before burying her nose in them breathing in a heady aroma. It's all at once intoxicating and inviting. Instinctively her tongue flickers out, catching the most tantalizing taste on its tip. She immediately wants more, her tongue eagerly searching for its source only to be stalled going further by fingers trailing through her hair, calling her attention.

She witnesses a brief flicker of something across Yang's features and suddenly it was gone. Blake pulled back, 

"Are you ok, babe?"

Yang's eyebrows knit together, 

"Yeah.... I just...." She caressed Blake's cheek tenderly, a reassurance of some sorts, ".. I .... We need to .."

Instead of finishing the sentence, she took one of Blake's hands from her thighs, coaxing the confused journalist to her feet, kissing her tenderly. And Blake doesnt know what to make of the turn of events, or wish to pry and run the risk of ruining this almost perfect morning, she kisses her back. Yang murmurs against her lips, 

"I ain't having you running around saying I'm a terrible date. I have a reputation to uphold."

Blake smirks in between lazy soft nibbles and kisses,

"So this was a date?"

"Nuuha"

"And you have a reputation, do you?"

Its Yang's turn to flush beet red, 

"Not that sort of reputation! .... I ... mean... Ya know.... being hospitable and all that.."

Blake snakes her arms up underneath Yang's resting on her back, pressing against her and rocking them both ever so slightly side to side.

"So you do this often, eh?"

Yang ducks her head shyly to the side, mumbling something.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I didn't quite catch that." Blake lightly teased.

The cowgirl gave a toss of her head before regarding the journalist, 

"I said, No." Before Blake could reply, Yang slyly changed the subject, "I like it when you call me sweetheart."

Blake was certain that at that something deep inside herself gave the most minuscule sounds of cracking. Or maybe it was just her accursed stomach as it took that opportunity to announce itself again

"Right you... That's it... C'mon!..Food! " Yang takes her hand, leading back into the kitchen come dining room, "I'll rustle something up for you."

And that's when Blake realises that the blonde also doesn't want this morning to end either. This cosy thing that seems so easy is mutual. That maybe she also wants to spend all day in bed, or lazing around the apartment naked, enjoying each others company?

It's with great disappointment Blake remembers that she hasn't got anything in the fridge, apart from a half eaten tuna sandwich and a half quart of milk for her much needed English Breakfast tea. She had fully intended to go to the General Store after work, but in her excitement to get ready for the previous evening she had completely forgot. Besides, she usually grabbed a bite in the diner either before or during her shift. With reluctance she admits to Yang just how woefully inadequate she is at Adulting.

The cowgirl doesn't mock, or tease or judge, she simply states, 

"Well, guess theres nothin else for it..... The diner it is then."

It takes them far longer than it ought to for two grown ass women to wash up and make themselves presentable, but being momentarily distracted by each other doing mundane things such as slipping on underwear, exchanging kisses and caresses. They both squeeze into Blake's cramped bathroom, Yang being taller behind Blake as they both brushed their teeth in the mirror, catching each others eyes, either winking or pulling funny faces that threatened to choke Blake on her mouth wash. She thanked her lucky stars that she hadnt thrown out her old brush and was able to offer her guest the unopened one she had purchased as a replacement.

But the cowgirl's hair.... Watching it was an experience and a half. Blake not having the correct brushes, the blonde tried her best but if the blue tinted language she heard coming down the hallway was anything to go by, things were not going too well. Blake is pretty certain she is going to have to google the meaning of half those swear words, though she's fairly certain she knows what a 'Sow fucker' is.

There's also one small problem. Yang's vest top. In Blake's haste to get it off the string had broken and that is how the pair of them are sat in Blake's bedroom, sifting through her half unpacked bags trying to find something, anything that could remotely cover Yang's prize assets. Most of Blake's clothes are either meant for work, or the working lunch / nightclub scene of NY and even on her they would be classed as scandalously eye-popping.

It's in the bottom of an overly large camping rucksack that Blake finally finds something that might just fit. It's something she tends to sleep in or use when she's having one of those days where she wants to be comfy. She usually wears it with tiny shorts or as it comes below her ass and on more than one occasion she has answered the door to a pizza delivery guy, who has walked away with what he thought was an eyeful. 

It's something she was never allowed to wear around Adam, because of its origins, in fact she had to hide the fact she still had it for such a long time as she had told him she had donated it, and she dreaded to think what he would have done if he had ever found that she had kept it. She pulls it out, holding it up, the gold trim surrounding the royal purple catching the light as it unfurls. Its silky and soft to the touch, 

"TaDa!" She holds it up "There, that should fit!" 

With one finger, Yang pulls down the neck to peer over it at Blake,

"What is this?"

"It's my collage football shirt!"

"I can see that!" She peers round the side, " Are you sure its your college football shirt..... This thing must come down to your knees?"

On her knees on the floor, Blake purses her lips, regarding the cowgirl owlishly . Coming to a decision she begins to explain,

"Ok... Look.. I dated a football player back in college and that was his shirt."

Yang teased,

"He must have been huge!

"Oh, he was very big!" She hears Yang snort and its then she realises that shes walked straight into a trap and suddenly tries to back pedal, only to find its too late. "Noooo.... not that kinda big!

"So he wasn't big?"

At that, Blake balls up the shirt playfully throwing it in Yang's face, 

"You are terrible!" 

Yang catches the shirt bursting into fits of giggles. Blake begins stuffing clothes back into the ruck sack, with a mind to take them to the laundromat at a later stage, with a faux scolding tone,

"Oh... hush you.... I can't believe I'm telling you this, but, get dressed!"

Yang wriggles into it and Blake has to admit that it looks surprisingly good on her. The blond turns this way and that admiring her reflection in the long mirror in the corner. She pulls at it under the arms and over her chest, setting it to catch at her belt buckle so it still shows. Catching Blake's reflection in the mirror, she announces with a wicked smirk, 

"Roomy,"

Blake gets to her feet with a roll of her eyes, and a shake of her head,  
It doesn't miss Blake's attention the way that the cowgirl's eyes flicker briefly to the brown and yellow checked shirt she was wearing the night before, casually discarded on the bed as she's trying to get her thick unruly hair from under the collar of the football shirt before taking off down the hallway to the front room. Picking up her purse, she casts the shirt a glance, wondering what this could mean before quickly grabbing her phone and her keys off the bedside cabinet and taking off in the same direction. 

Yang is waiting for her, in her worn brown leather jacket, cowboy boots and hat, aviators hanging from the temple in the golden rimmed V of the shirt, casually leaning against the wall by the door. She can make out the yellow bra underneath winking out of the air holes in the shirts material. She strikes Blake as a vision, who hops from one foot to the other in a vain attempt to pull on some battered yet comfy high tops. She's about to unlock the door when Yang stops her,

"C'mere, Darlin."

Her back is suddenly pressed against the door, looking up at Yang, who is at least a head taller than her now she's no longer wearing heels. There's a beat of anticipation before the cowgirl leans down, slipping her tongue past eagerly parted lips, kissing her languidly, Blake's fingers curl into the silkiness of the material in a bid to steady herself as she leans up searching for more as Yang pulls away. 

"I wanted to do that.... Cause I dunno when I'll get chance again."

Panic floods through Blake. Surely this can't just be a one night stand? She certainly doesn't want it to be. There's been too much build up for it to be just that, or maybe she has read the situation terribly wrong?

And Yang must pick up on it, as she continues, her voice soft and reassuring, 

"It's just.. ya know... round these parts....." Her eyes dart to the left, " I ... I just don't want folks knowing my business..."

And that's the first indication to Blake that this, whatever it is going on between them, isn't going to play out the same as it would if they were on the streets of New York.

X-X-X-X

The pair leave the apartment, Yang casually ambling down the narrow stairs that will lead down to The Thoroughfare, coming to a halt in the shaft of bright mid morning sunshine spilling in from the street through the open door. She turns to watch Blake, who takes her time, swinging one foot out onto the step below, followed by the other. It's when she arrives at the bottom step Yang casts a furtive glance back towards the open side door that will lead into 'Maggie's Clothing Emporium,' from which drifts the busy sounds of old ladies fawning over new outfits and making purchases, before stepping up close blocking the journalist's way.

The height of the step, adding inches to Blake, puts them on equal footing and Yang darts forward stealing a kiss, from lips that believe it is altogether far too fleeting, before she pulls back. For a second they linger on each other until there comes a rustle of bags and a customer steps through the side door from the shop inot the hallway. The cowgirl ducks her head, taking a tiny step back to create a bit of space between them. 

There comes a bark, 

"Xiao Long!"

Yang turns towards the voice, 

"Ms Cordovin." 

It's not laced with warmth, but still remains respectfully polite. 

Over the cowgirl's shoulder Blake spies a very small woman, who puts her in mind of a garden gnome, and she recognises it's one the gossiping grannies that frequents the diner who can often be found verbally sparring with Abuela Calavera with such cutting insulting ferocity, Blake has to wonder if the two of them are actually friends or if it's just companionship out of necessity to make up the fourth at the bridge games that takes up a whole booth for hours at a time.

The pint sized woman's age is anyone's guess, with short grey hair that comes just down past her ears, her pudgy features and the erectness to her back that is probably obstinately refusing to bend to the ravages of time but rather beating it with a stick, leaving it whimpering in the corner begging for mercy. Eyes squint up at the pair, 

"I might have known it was you making all that racket! .. No regard for other people. . Assaulting ones ears with such filthy language!"

Blake has to suck in her lips, trying not to laugh at the thought of this woman being absolutely scandalised whilst trying to do her Friday morning shopping. The brief flash of memory of fingers buried deep inside and the imagined reaction of this self righteous busy body if she was to have any incline of what caused the blue outburst, suddenly makes Blake lose control. She tries to swallow it but fails miserably as it bubbles from her lips and her nose coming out in a snort, which garners her a dark glare. 

It's as if Yang is having the same thought as she lets out a choked, 

"Yes, Ms Cordovin!"

Seemingly satisfied, the woman turns to leave, and Blake can see shoulders clad in a tan leather jacket begin to shake with barely contained mirth, one hand reaching out for the wall in a bid to steady herself, when the old woman turns back around as sharp as whip, scowling up at them both, causing the cowgirl to jump to attention. 

"One More Thing!" Blake's eyes are beginning to water from the strain of holding it in as the woman continues to scold, "Tell your sister that her books are due and I shall not tolerate tardiness!.. Punctuality is the very backbone of society and I shall not have Mz Rose besmirch the libraries good name! We in Clearwater have a reputation to uphold!"

Yang lets out a garbled, 

"Yes, Ms Cordovin. No besmirching... I'll get right on it!"

The pint sized woman continued to scowl at them both for a long second before turning about and striding out of the door into the street with a rustle of shopping bags. Yang turns round and the pair nearly collapse into each other, howling with laughter. Blake is flapping her hand, unable to breath and the cowgirl is bent over gripping onto the sleeve of the New Yorker's black leather jacket. She's gasping for air and Blake can hear sucked in words, 

"I can't..... I .. just... can't!" 

Taking a gulp of air, Blake manages through her giggles, 

"What a battle axe!" 

There are tears at the corner of Yang's eyes as she barely manages a reply, 

"Oh my God!..... Oh my God.. ..You have no idea!"

Blake adds, 

"Imagine if she had caught us? " The journalist clutches at imaginary pearls, pulling a shocked face, saying in faux seriousness, " Well, I never! The youth of today! Shocking!" She shakes her slack jaw in an attempt to shake nonexistent jowls.." Shocking, I say!"

The blonde slumps back against the wall for support and for a moment she looks like her legs will give way as she convulses with laughter, holding her ribs, begging, 

"Please... please.. stop... I can't take .. I can't take anymore... It hurts!"

Blake continues, 

"There shall be no besmirching, young lady! Not on my watch!"

Yang's cheeks are red and she lets out a phewww as she barely manages to get her giggles under control, wiping a finger at the corner of watery red eyes. 

"Jesus christ!" She gives a shake of her head that tumbles her golden curls, as she reaches out for Blake, "- Babe!"

The new pet name has a casual yet natural ring to it, and Blake briefly wonders if it will replace the usual one she has grown accustomed to or if it is an addition, beginning a list that will grow over time . She finds deep down that she hopes it's the latter and not just a throw away term of endearment or a slip of the tongue between two people signifying a shared night of passion that will be partially forgotten in a few days time only to linger in memory on dark lonely nights.

With one hand loosely in her pocket Yang offers out the crook of her arm as she opens her aviators with her mouth and slips them onto her face hiding  
dancing lilac eyes that the journalist has come to adore so much. Blake internally scolds herself as she pulls down her own sunglasses from her hair onto the bridge of her nose,

"Get it together, Belladonna!" 

But her body betrays her as she readily slips her arm into the waiting loop in a bid to get closer and she is almost certain she feels yet another miniscule crack as Yang hurriedly presses an affectionate kiss to her temple before stepping out into the street.

Pushing open the door to the diner Blake is appreciative of the waft of cool air from the AC as she's still not quite acclimated to the Oklahoma sunshine and has begun to sweat a fraction in her leather jacket from simply walking not even two Clearwater blocks. The tinkling of the overdoor bell herald's their arrival causing the fry cook to peer out from the back kitchen, his white cook's hat evident just under the metal order rack.

"Hey Eddie!" Blake waves, with grin.

Eddie leans out further, checking his watch, 

"Ya got here right on time, city girl, if ya wantin a bit' o breakfast. Was just about ta make the swap!"

There comes a very distinctive voice, yelling somewhere from the depths of the kitchen,

"Oooo, is that Blake?"

Eddie's reply is lost as he disappears from view. The diner is relatively quiet being the morning rush is usually well and truly over by 10:45am on a Friday morning. Blake is about to take a seat up at the breakfast counter when the cowgirl gives a slight tip of her head, moving further down the back. They pass by a handful of people in the high backed red leather booths, patrons with the same mind as them to grab some much needed food and a good cup of coffee which is fast becoming famous in this town, that may or may not have something to do with a certain New York ex-barista turned journalist.

Coming upon an unoccupied corner both, Blake slides in first taking off her jacket and slipping her sunglasses on to the top of her head. She watches as Yang seems to stutter, caught between trying to decide between sitting beside her or opposite. The cowgirl shrugs out of her jacket, tossing it on the seat opposite and slowly takes off her aviators, popping them in the snug of the deep V of the football shirt before sliding in beside her shuffling closer until she is almost sat on Blake's lap.

At first the brunette is confused until she remembers Yang's comment back in the apartment about wishing to keep her privacy and Blake suddenly understands what she is trying to do. With a smile, she edges round the curve of the table so they are sat close but adjacent to each other and feels a slightly callused hand searching for hers under the table, only to interlock their fingers when it finds its target.

Yang reaches for one of the plastic covered menus propped up in between a napkin dispenser and 1950's style sugar and salt shakers, as she gives Blake's knee a playful bump with her own. Blake helps her open it out and the pair bow their heads in the pretense of studying the scrumptious food and the day's special that can be purchased for 10 dollars, with fries and a shake after 11 am. 

There comes the soft sound of a pft pft pft as footfalls approach. Blake looks up at the diner's owner and namesake whose eyes are watching them with keen interest. Yang briefly looks up, only to duck her head at the scrutiny suddenly fascinated by the words of the menu. From her 1950's diner apron pocket, the bird like woman takes out a pen and a small white pad, flipping it open, with a flash of a grin and a quirk of an eyebrow, an unspoken question whose reply is a pink flush spreading across Blake cheeks.

"Morning City Girl!" Comes the distinctive voice, there's a hint of New Jersey that has given way to the local accent over time and it's raspy from too many cigarettes over the years though she's cut down , it's warm and laced with motherly affection., " How's the head today?"

"Good, Dana, good good!" Blake doffs her head , suddenly feeling like teenager being pumped for good natured information

"Trouble and Snowflake not with you?" 

Dana, tapped the end of the pen against the pad and Blake can feel the soft cast of a fishing line, the lure twinkling invitingly bobbing on the surface. Rather than take the bait, she pulls out her phone from her pocket giving it a quick check, 

"They said they're on the way."

Danna yells across the diner, 

"Eddie, be a dear and make up some pancake batter, if there's none left over, an some streaky bacon."

He eases half out of the swinging door of the kitchen, wiping his hand on a towel, 

"Nora's on her way, eh?"

"You better believe it! And you know what she's like after a night on the town!" Dana returns her attention to the two young women, "Had quite the night, so I heard?" She shouts back towards the kitchen, "Eddie, what was it Dale said?" 

At that Yang's head shoots up from the menu, lilac eyes wide and Dana gives them a wicked smirk watching the pair intently, Eddie comes further out of the kitchen standing at the side of the service counter, with one hand at his stomach as if holding reins, tipping and rocking his hips as if astride some imaginary horse skipping around in circles before whipping the towel over his head and letting out a loud, 

"YEEEHAW.... YEEEEHAWWW!" 

Blake's hands fly to cover over her face in a bid to hide her embarrassment as Dana lets out a belly laugh at her reaction. Through splayed fingers she sees the diner owner give Yang a playful poke in the shoulder,

"And you, Sunshine! 6:48 seconds.. What was that? Ain't like you to be letting Nikos run rings round ya?"

Scratching the back of her neck before tucking her hands under her armpits and leaning away from the finger and towards Blake, Yang lets out a playfully disgruntled, 

"Ahh,, Dana.. come on! It was a point 3 of a seconds difference!" 

The woman gives Yang's shoulder a motherly squeeze, as she teases, 

"Still the difference between winnin and losin ,eh? Lose another time an folks will be thinkin it's a streak!"

Slipping her hand back under the table, the blonde wraps her fingers round Blake's, grousing, 

"It ain't a streak and besides I technically didn't lose!"

At that, the diner owner's gaze flickers between the two ending on Blake and her smile turns from teasing to soft and genuine. Blake returns it with a bashful one, grateful when Dana doesn't comment, but rather skips over it. 

"What can I get two growing cowgirl's? We don't have your usual, I'm afraid, bein we weren't expectin you in... " Again she taps the pad, "-So what will it be, Breakfast with the works? Or will ye be havin some pancakes and bacon?" 

The two women share a look, coming to an unspoken agreement, the journalist replies, apologetically,

" Breakfast and the works.. Only if Eddie doesn't mind? I know we've cut it a bit close."

"Don't pay him any attention." As the woman takes off back towards the kitchen with a pft pft pft of her shoes on tiles, she shouts, " And Sunshine, dear !"

"Yes, Dana?"

"Purple and gold suits you.... You should wear it more often!"

As the proprietor busies herself behind the counter setting of the hiss of the coffee machine, Yang leans closer, 

"Your usual?"

Blake demurely pops back the menu into it's snug, 

"Salmon and scrambled eggs with a toasted bagel. They don't really serve it but when I first started, Eddie asked me what I missed most about breakfast back in New York and my next morning shift he had it ready" She paused at the memory, "- They've both been very good to me." She watched as Yang pulled out her phone and began tapping away on the screen. Curiosity getting the best of her, she asked, "What are you doing?"

Looking up from the screen, the cowgirl smiled, 

"Making a note, babe."

The use of the fresh pet name and the hint indicating that this isn't a one time thing but something the golden cowgirl is preparing to repeat at some point in the future, causes Blake's tummy give a small flip, much like a puppy with uncertain legs jumping in excitement at the newness of the world and all the possibilities it has to offer, as the blonde returns to what she is doing. Casting her eyes round the diner to make sure no one is watching this most private of moments, Blake leans back, tipping her head to one side before quickly pressing her lips to the soft skin in between the ear and hinge of Yang's jaw, allowing them to linger just long enough for the object of her affections to notice, before pulling away and pretending to look at her phone.

And it is totally worth it, as a grin spreads across her lips before she leans in closer and murmurs in Blake's ear,

"Thief."

Blake straightens her shoulders, wriggling a little from side to side that travels down her spine to her hips as she proudly announces, 

"I'm not a thief. I'm a ninja!"

"A Ninja of Love?" Yang smirks, "That was quite the book on the table.... 'Now that's a Katana!', I do believe where the words she exclaimed?" 

Caught between embarrassment and the awfulness of the pun, the journalist playfully slaps the blonde on the shoulder, half laughing and hissing in mock scolding, 

"Yang! Shhhh!"

"What's that I heard about a Katana?" Dana asks as she arrives back at the table with a tray laden with a small teapot, two cups, one filled with coffee, a jug of water and two glasses, " I knew a man with a Katana, once" Her eyes took on a wistful quality as if staring back through the eons of time, a smile ghosting her lips, as Blake flushes pink and Yang lets out a giggle. There's a tinkle of the overhead doorbell and they watch as the waitress comes back to the present, placing her wares on the table. "-Here ya go poppits.. Breakfast won't be long."  
.  
They all turn towards a pitiful long drawn out moan, 

"MOOOOOOOM!"

And Nora suddenly assaults the bird like woman flinging her arms around her, letting her legs loose so she's hanging there like some bratty Koala Bear, threatening to tip Dana over, who curses trying to turn her head away from the onslaught and crinkling her nose

"Jesus Christ, Nora ... You stink like a brewery!"

The small redhead continues to hang there, giving the biggest puppy eyes and a pout as she whines, 

"Is there pancakes?"

And Dana replies with a performance worthy of an Academy Award, her features set in a grim line, 

"You know we stop serving breakfast at 10:30, Nora!" 

"But.. but... Mooooom!" 

The redhead continues to hang there, her already wide eyes growing wider and Blake is certain she can see a quiver of a bottom lip and the beginning of tears, before Dana finally breaks giving her a motherly kiss on the forehead, 

"You know Eddie will never say no to giving you pancakes." Dana rolls her eyes, playfully swatting at her, "I swear, you're nothing but Trouble... Now park your beehind in there." 

Nora gives her an impish grin, before pressing a kiss to Dana's cheek, 

"I love you." 

She exuberantly throws up her arms, turning towards the kitchen and shouts, 

"THANK YOU EDDIE!" 

From behind her they hear, rather waspishly, 

"Can we 'please' stop yelling?"

With two fingers at her temple, Weiss is standing wearing an electric pink t shirt depicting an cartoonish version of a Norse God holding up a hammer, a pair of black leggings and high tops in bright green that clash with the whole ensemble. Her eyes are hidden behind overly large dark sunglasses that would not go amiss on a Golden Era Hollywood movie star. Her usually immaculate high ponytail is pulled pulled over one shoulder, loosely braided much like a Disney Princess. She shuffles past Nora, taking a seat before dramatically flopping on the table's surface.

"Kill me..now!" 

Blake gently strokes at the heiresses hair, 

"If I remember correctly it was that exact same request that started this all!"

Yang stands up slightly, reaching over the table to poke her lightly in the shoulder, cheekily teasing, 

"Awww, Ice Princess.. Are we a bit delicate this mornin?"

"Xiao Long, I will not hesitate to kill you stone dead where you stand, if you call me Ice Princess one more time!" Slender hands blindly search the table's surface, until Blake helps her by pushing the cup closer and they clasp round the warm ceramic of the overly large coffee mug. She sits up a little taking a sip before pulling a face and laying her head back down, mumbling into the wood, "Even if it means running the risk of never having a decent cup of coffee ever again!"

The redhead waitress slides in next to her friend, copying the heiress. Weiss sighs, 

"Finally... Peace and quiet."

Pouring out tea into the second cup, Blake carefully skirts the issue, 

"So you both got home safe then?"

Nora starts rolling up her sleeve to show a nice bruise forming on her elbow, and she regales them how she had slipped up the stairs. Who in their right mind would slip up the stairs? Because everyone and their mother knows that gravity doesn't work that way unless of course she is some ancient cryptid where the rules don't apply.

She watches as Weiss suffers in silence over the not quite to her standard of coffee until she cant take it anymore and offers to make her some special blend with a New York twist. At that the heiress professes her love but refuses to take back her offer of High Nooning the golden cowgirl on The Thoroughfare at the next slight on her good name and as Blake sidles past Yang, she doesn't miss how fingers trail over her ass till the very last second.

It's as she is making a fresh batch of coffee, packing in the grounds and checking the nozzles that the door gives another ping indicating a new arrival and potential customer. Turning round she spots Emerald, looking as funky and fresh as always, gently ushering in her grand uncle, Harold, through the door guiding him over to his favourite spot by the window. Blake slides the newest edition of The Clearwater Chronicle over the counter, which the store clerk takes with a smile before returning to settle the old man. 

He looks up, eyes alighting on Blake, 

"Betty, you started early this morning... Did you catch the sprigits of blossoms I left on the table?"

Finishing making the coffee she places it on the end of the counter just as Dana comes out arms laden with plates, and the journalist calls out, 

"Yeah, I did, Harold... They were lovely... Thank you!"

Satisfied, the old man unfurls the newspaper, giving it a little shake to signify that some serious reading was about to commence as his grandniece takes one of the spinning breakfast seats at the counter. The Saudi-American woman leans on her elbows in a bid to get comfortable, 

"You don't mind that he sometimes mistakes you for his wife, do you?"

"No." Blake gives a soft shake of her head, as she runs some hot water from the coffee machine in a teapot and collects two cups from the side. " - If it gives him a little comfort... Who am I to take that away from him?"

Emerald's brown eyes flicker towards the old man and the look on her face speaks volumes as to the affection when she says, 

"She's been gone... about 10 years at this point, I'd say ... Lately, he's started to forget... you know." She pauses, "- Started looking for her." She goes to put sugar and milk into the cup, only for Blake to stop her and pour in the hot brown liquid holding up a finger telling her to wait "- They were together 40 years, maybe even more."

Blake casts a glance in the direction of the back booth were Nora is scarfing pancakes like she's been on a desert island whilst Weiss daintily attempts to snatch fork fulls, eventually giving up and skewering a sausage from some unseen plate but it all pales in the background to a golden cowgirl who is rambunctiously laughing out loud and a flash of a thought snakes out, bright and almost dazzling, that she might not mind spending 40 years with a certain someone and she is unable to stop the grin curling at her lips.

Emerald follows her gaze.

"Speaking of which... How did last night go?"

Blake ducks her gaze, taking a sip of much needed tea trying to get a grip on her features as she fails to sedately reply,

"I have no idea what you're talking about?"

Emerald beckons her closer, a devilish look in her eyes. As Blake leans over the service counter the store clerk salaciously whispers in her ear, 

"Tell that to the hickey on your neck!"

In one swift movement, Blake places down the teacup and rushes over to the coffee machine, checking her reflection in silver metal surface, turning her neck this way and that. The store clerk slaps the counter, causing Harold to flip down one of the corners of the newspaper, as she pushes herself of the breakfast seat, exclaiming, 

"I fucking knew it!" Stalking back towards the occupied booth, she adds, laughing, "You can't hide shit from me, City Slicker!"

Blake scrambles to get round from behind the counter as she watches the sometimes barmaid lean her palms on the table with a pop of one leg as she says something to Weiss and Nora. As she dashes over the tiled floor, nearly slipping in her haste, she catches the redhead announce, 

"That'll be ten bucks..... I take card or credit... I don't accept cheques from a Schnee!" 

"How about I just pay for breakfast?"

The journalist angles round Emerald, trying to catch Yang's eye, 

"I swear.. I didn't say anything!"

There's a moment where Blake's heart is in her chest as she watches the cowgirl stare into the glass of water in her hand. Head bowed, avoiding the New Yorker's panicked gaze, she gives it a swish before knocking the remnants back and with very particular and measured movements places it back on the table. She pushes up the brim of her cowboy hat with one finger before turning around to face her and the grip on Blake's heart changes from one of anxiousness to something else entirely as she pats the seat beside her and says, 

"Well, sweetheart, I guess the cat is out of the bag!" 

Blake slides into the booth, cosying under an outstretched arm, clad in a silky college football shirt, that doesn't move from round her shoulders but pull her in a little tighter, as their friends laugh and joke about the previous nights antics. Two in particular fight, in the way that old friends do, about who is going to deliver the news to Pyrrha who owes one of them 10 bucks. Yang's phone beeps and she leaves the offering of streaky bacon hanging from Blake's mouth, wiping her fingers on her jeans before unlocking her phone. Her face breaking into wide smile as she reads the private words there. 

"What is it?" Blake asks between nibbles.

"Nothing much, babe...." Yang brings her in closer, kissing the top of her head, "I'm the new Sheriff in town is all and I ain't on a losing..." Pulling back she pauses, one finger flicking at the piece of bacon in the brunette's hand, "Streak!"

Emerald and Weiss groan and Nora shrieks with laughter knocking over the water jug

It's in a 1950's diner in a backwater town surrounded by an heiress with a legacy to uphold, a barmaid with a dark start, a rowdy waitress with a code, a protective yet supportive Rodeo Star who is there in spirit and a Golden Cowgirl who is almost blinding, hurriedly trying to clean up the mess whilst a motherly figure huffs and puffs, that the New York skyline falls away replaced by barely two storey, flat roofed red brick town hedged in on all sides by rippling fields of gold as far as the eye can see, that a journalist steps from the shadows willingly into the light.

She snuggles in closer to this woman who has only faint hints of fresh grass and lavender on her skin, now intermingling with something else. 

With a setting rights of her hat, against the backdrop of laughing and joking friends, Yang asks, 

"You ok there, darlin?"

And for the first time in as long as she can remember Blake utters one word with all sincerity, 

"Perfect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> ,  
> .  
> .  
> Phewww, its been a trip..... I hope you enjoy..... i aint sure if ill continue or add chapters.. who the hell knows?
> 
> But anyways.. if you liked .. leave a lil thumbs up or a few words... and you are more than welcome to spread the good cheer and flirty bees. 
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING AND GOING ON THIS JOURNEY WITH ME.. IT'S BEEN A SLOG BUT FUN! :D

**Author's Note:**

> If you are enjoying this fic, feel free to show your support via comments or kudos.


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